


Samara Can Never Be Avoided

by Es_Aitch



Series: Not An Addict [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Es_Aitch/pseuds/Es_Aitch
Summary: After a recent complete rewactch of all SHERLOCK episodes, this fic started with a question:What if John had arrived at the Aquarium before Mary at the end of "The Six Thatchers"?It’s gone along from there.  Also, this has gone AU in a way I hadn’t expected.  Theories I long held due to my love of the ACD canon will be used.Ratings and tags might change as characters/situations present themselves.
Series: Not An Addict [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/271035
Comments: 20
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HIIII!!!! I after about a five-year hiatus from writing SHERLOCK fics, I’m back. I might even continue with [Sober Chips For Non-Addicts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/887144). (Though there are events in S4 that still give me pause about trying to pick that one up again. We’ll see.) For now, you get this one <3
> 
> * * *

John was about to tell Mary about his texting affair. When Mary’s and then his text alert sounded. Both read their texts and knew that the other had also received a text from Sherlock. Mary’s read, “The curtain rises. The last act. It’s not over. SH.” John’s was simpler. “London Aquarium. Come Immediately. SH.”

Mary looked over at him. “Can you tell me later?”

John could hear a lilt to Mary’s voice that signified she was worried. He looked down at her phone to read the text and she did the same to his. “Yeah.”

Then they both stood and made to get to work. Then they both stopped. Mary laughed a bit when she realised the mistake they were about to make. “Well, we can’t just go.”

John nodded. “Rosie. You go.”

“No,” Mary protested.  
“I’ll come as soon as I’ve found someone. Mrs Hudson.”

Mary’s exceptional memory skills kicked in “Corfu ‘til Saturday. Molly.”

John nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try.”  
“Well, we should both stay and wait for her.”  
“That’s never going to happen, if there’s more to this case, you should see it.”  
“John, Sherlock texted the location to you not me. You’re meant to be there first. Go.”

John considered protesting for a minute, but thought better of it. “Okay. You win.”

With that, he grabbed his jacket and left. Mary stayed behind and contacted Molly. Once things with Molly had been arranged, she called Mycroft.

John made his way to the aquarium and got to the shark tank just in time to hear Sherlock talking to a woman. She was commenting on how she was always looking over her shoulder, expecting to see the grim figure of…. He knew that feeling all too well, so he completed the statement for her. “Death.”

Sherlock recognised the voice immediately. “Hello, John. Mary?”  
“On the way.”  
“Let me introduce Ammo”

John couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “You’re Ammo?”

He looked her up and down. He didn’t have Sherlock’s deduction skills, but she looked less than imposing for the role that AJ and Mary made clear this person seemed to have. Sherlock filled in the story, addressing the woman. “So, you used AGRA as your own private assassination unit. All while selling secrets.”

Ammo seemed quite pleased with herself. “Well, it would be churlish to refuse. Worked well for a few years, bought myself a cottage in Cornwall. But the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I’d had it. Then she was taken hostage.” She chuckled softly. “I couldn’t believe my luck!”

Sherlock continued the story. “Then you found out your boss had sent AGRA in.”

She nodded once. “Very handy; such reliable killers.”  
“John, what none of them knew, not even Mary, was that she had also tipped off the hostage-takers.”

She had an air of arrogance as she sat back down. “Lady Smallwood gave the order, but I sent one to the terrorists with a clue about her code name, should anyone have an inquiring mind.” She shrugged. “Seemed to do the trick.”

John was now catching up to everything being revealed. He had seen enough of the battlefield to know where this would go. “So, you thought your troubles were over.”

Ammo nodded. “I was tired of it all and ready for some peace. I thought everyone had died in the crossfire.” She gave a weighted glance at John. “It’s all anyone who sees the battlefield wants, a nice normal life, even for just a little while.” She nodded to herself. “I understand. So just let me walk away. I’ll vanish forever.”

John couldn’t contain his temper any longer. He took several steps towards her. “After what you did?!”

Sherlock tried to stop him. “John, no.”

Just then, Ammo pulled a gun and pointed it at John. “I always wanted to be a field agent. I thought I’d be rather good.”

Sherlock wanted to distract her from John. “Well, you handled that operation very well. For a secretary.”

Then Sherlock started to work his way through his deductions. John noticed that the deductions were making Ammo nervous and he tried several times to warn the detective.

Just in time, Mycroft’s voice interrupted the apparent stalemate. “Well, Mrs Norbury. I must admit, this is unexpected.”

Sherlock couldn’t resist though. He had to make that final push. “Vivian Norbury, who out-smarted them all. All except Sherlock Holmes. There’s no way out.” He held out his hand in a request to take her gun.  
“So it would seem. You’ve seen right through me.”  
“It’s what I do.”  
“Maybe I can stills surprise you.”

She raised her gun to aim it at Sherlock. Sherlock raised his arms. He had faced death so many times, at some point his luck had to run out. Lestrade spoke. “Now come on. Be sensible.”

Vivian paused for a moment as if considering it. “No, I don’t think so.” And then she pulled the trigger.

Everything went in slow motion for a moment. John cried out, “Sherlock!” He had intended to bowl Sherlock over so that the bullet would miss both of them, but he was just a moment off. The bullet caught him in the chest. He gasped and fell to the ground.

“Surprise!” Vivian’s voice called out over the echo of the shot and she dropped the gun.

Suddenly everyone was in motion. Two men moved to immobilise Vivian and Sherlock approached John. “Everything’s going to be okay, John.” He turned to Mycroft. “Get an ambulance.”

Mycroft took out his phone to make the call. Just then, Mary came around the corner. “John!”

She rushed to his side and looked over the wound debating best how to staunch the bleeding. All she could do was repeat his name and tell him it was going to be okay. He gasped in reply. “You’re a nurse, you can do better than that.” He gasped again. “But I’m an army doctor and I think this is it.”

“John, stop it. It’s not.”

He smiled at her. “You helped me recover from Bart’s hospital.”

Tears started to well in Mary’s eyes. “Shhh, John, Shhh. It’s okay. Don’t talk now. We’re going to save you.”

John started to cry. “You gave me a home and a family. Oh, God, Rosie. Look after her. Promise me…”

“I promise.” Mary didn’t care what the request was, she would promise to move Heaven and Earth if it meant John would live.

“Promise me that you’ll stop all this. That you’ll protect Rosie. Tell her about me.”  
“Of course I will. She will know her daddy.”

Mary was crying too hard to say more. She just tried to stop the bleeding and hush John out of fear that he was using too much energy. John turned to the detective. “Sherlock?”  
“Yes.”  
“You gave me the battlefield I desperately needed after I came home from Afghanistan. But I think… I think I know why you jumped now.... And I think we’re even.”  
“Yes, John, I think we are.”

Sherlock was beside himself. The shock ran so deep that he didn’t really understand what he was witnessing, let alone what he was saying. Mary wanted John to keep fighting. “John? John, please just hold on a little longer. We’re going to take care of you.”

He looked at Mary and offered a smile. “Mary… You taught me to be the man you already thought I was. I… want… to be… that man.”

He took a last gasped and relaxed for a final time.

Mary quietly questioned him. “John? John?” But when she heard no reply and saw no more breath coming from him, she wrapped her arms around him, bent her head to kiss his forehead, and she let out a blood-curdling scream.

Then, something told her she was being watched. She looked up and the first person who came into view was Sherlock. He looked like he was about to say something. She just glared at him. “Don’t. You. Dare! You destroyed him by convincing him of your death. And after we saved him… at our wedding, you made a vow.” If she weren’t holding the still warm body of John Watson, she probably would have attacked him herself. She returned her focus to John and began to weep bitterly. 

Sherlock backed away, slowly.

It was another five minutes before the ambulance arrived. Greg Lestrade sent them away and used his contacts to arrange the transport of John’s body to a mortuary. There was no need for an autopsy, since they had all been witnesses. Mycroft used his government influences so that interviews would not have to be performed. Vivian Norbury would be going away for a long time. She would eventually be charged with treason and executed and the whole thing would be wrapped up and kept as quiet as possible to protect Mary and Rosie.

Mary didn’t know what to do. She wanted to go with John. Mycroft and Lestrade had to restrain her. It didn’t take as much effort as either of them thought it would, due to her emotional state. Lestrade knew they couldn’t call in the victim support specialists like usual. He would have to serve that role for now. He walked with her to one of the Ladies that was nearby. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up a little.”

In the toilet, he guided her to the sink, so she could wash her hands. He turned the taps on to let the water warm a bit before he guided her hands to where she could wash them. Mary tried to resist. “No, it’s the last of him. His last heartbeat is here.”

Lestrade had to swallow hard. He was used to this sort of thing, far more used to it than he should be, but it was still more painful when it was someone you knew. “I understand. But I don’t think it would be good for Rosie to see it, do you?”  
“Oh God, Rosie.”

She had forgotten her. Even if momentarily. And the guilt of that rushed over her. She started to wash her hands quickly. There was a knock on the door while she was cleaning up. Someone handed Lestrade a set of scrubs and a plastic bag so Mary could change out of her bloody clothes and have somewhere to put them. She went to the handicap stall so she’d have enough room, changed clothes, and bagged the soiled ones. When she came out, she washed her hands again.

She stood there washing her hands longer than necessary and Lestrade recognised the manifestation of guilt. He pulled some paper towels and handed them to her. “I think you’re clean enough now.”

Mary had to get home and take care of Rosie, but she didn’t want to be in the flat where she knew everything would remind her of John. She was fairly certain that even Rosie would remind her of him, but that couldn’t be helped. The only thing she knew for certain was that she didn’t want to be alone and she didn’t want to be anywhere near Sherlock Holmes. “I have to get home to Rosie.”

“We’ll get you home when you’re ready.”

Then a realisation hit her. “J-john drove here. What about the car?”

Lestrade shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, we’ll take care of everything.”

Mycroft was the one to take Mary back to her flat. The ride was in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just both were mourning in different ways. Before she exited the car, he took her hand more gently than she imagined him capable. “Mary. If you need anything. Anything at all, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

Mary was too numb to really acknowledge what was happening. She simply nodded her head and made her way to her flat. 

Molly was waiting at the door for her. Her eyes were red from crying. She gave Mary a long hug. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Mary allowed for the hug, but didn’t hug back or really acknowledge that it was happening. When she was finally released, she had one question. “How’s Rosie?”

Molly guided Mary into the kitchen where she had some tea steeping. Heat was always good for shock. “She’s sleeping now.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

Molly nodded. “She became inconsolable around 7.20. Cried for nearly an hour. Wore herself out.”

Mary looked at her watch. It was now 9.35. Her face crumpled as she realised the aquarium closing time. “That’s when it happened.” Tears streamed down Mary’s cheeks as she realised Rosie was already feeling the loss of her daddy. “I can’t do this… I can’t.”

Molly set the mugs on the table in a way they could both reach them. Then she draped an arm across Mary’s shoulders. “Of course you can. You’re not in this alone. We’ll all help you.”

That thought made Mary tense. She growled. “Not Sherlock. Anyone but him.”

Molly assumed it was the shock talking and so didn’t reply to that. She reached for a mug and moved it closer to Mary. “Here, drink this. Camomile tea. It will help you to sleep.”

Mary scoffed. “I haven’t slept since before Rosie was born. I’m not going to start now.”

Molly nodded. “Yes, you will. I’ll stay the night and look after Rosie.”

Mary didn’t have the energy to argue. She slid the mug closer to her and inhaled the steam before taking a sip. It was brewed and sweetened just right. It did make her feel a bit better. She looked around. “Can you… sleep in our room? I’ll take the guest room. I just… I can’t sleep in that bed tonight.”

Molly nodded. “Of course, whatever you need. Will you be okay on your own a few minutes? I’ll just go and change the sheets.”

Mary nodded in reply. She hadn’t been alone since everything had happened. After she finished her tea, she went to Rosie’s room to check on her baby herself. Rosie was a beautiful child, with big eyes and a mischievous smile. Usually. Tonight, she wore a worried pout, even in her sleep. Mary leant over and kissed the baby on her forehead. “Your daddy is the bravest and best man anyone could ever have. He loved you and so do I.”

Mary’s eyes welled with tears again, so she exited the child’s room. She met Molly in the hall. Molly offered a weak kind of smile. The kind that tries to be encouraging, when you know there’s nothing that can encourage anyone. “The sheets have been changed in the guest room. Maybe take a bath first? I set some pyjamas in there for you to change into.”

Mary nodded. “It’s a good idea. Thank you.”

After her bath, Mary felt like she could at least climb into bed and pretend to sleep. While she dressed, she realised she would have to express some milk first or she would be miserable in the morning. She pulled the pyjamas on and took a breath. Some smell seemed odd. She raised the top to her nose and took a long sniff. She realised her clothes smelled like a mix of her and John. She sat on the lid of the loo and cried again, knowing that smell would eventually fade.

Once she collected herself, she made her way to the guest room. She smiled faintly when she saw that Molly had put all the breast pump equipment in the room. Good. One less trip she would have to make. When she was finished, she took the items to the kitchen. She labelled and dated the milk before putting it in the refrigerator and then cleaned the pump so it would be ready for the next time she would need it. Molly came in a moment later and held a couple of tablets out to her. She frowned. “What’s that?”

Molly shrugged. “Nothing powerful. Just some melatonin. I always carry a bottle with me when I sleep not at my house. It won’t harm the breast milk and it doesn’t force you to sleep. It just boosts what your body already makes.”

Mary nodded and took the pills. She trusted Molly. “I must be in terrible shape.”

Molly offered an expression filled with sympathy. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

After swallowing the pills, she made her way back to the guest room, climbed into the bed, and tried to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock had backed away from the tableau before him. He was in shock, his brain kept telling him, but the reality was so completely absurd that he ignored everything his mind was telling him. He didn’t get far. His way was blocked by security preventing anyone from coming into or leaving the scene.

The observation space had been cleared. Mrs Norbury had been taken away, so it was just himself, Lestrade, Mycroft, Mary, and John’s body left in the area. When Emergency Services arrived, Sherlock had a vague awareness that Lestrade had sent them away. When the transport arrived to collect John, Lestrade took over taking care of Mary and Mycroft stepped closer to Sherlock. 

He and Mycroft watched as John’s body was prepared for transport. The collection team was barely clinical about how they prepared him, let alone respectful. Sherlock shouldn’t care. Wouldn’t care if it were anyone else. But it was John’s body and the nonchalant nature they used had offended him. When it was done, Mycroft spoke. “Follow me.”

Sherlock was still in shock, but he knew Mycroft’s tone brooked no argument. Mycroft escorted them out through a side exit. He reached into a pocket and produced a silver cigarette case. He extracted two and presented one to Sherlock. Sherlock frowned at the proffered object. “It’s not Christmas.”

The older brother responded with a calm tone he did not feel. “No. But I thought it would be rude to smoke in front of you.”

Sherlock paused a moment longer before he took it. 

Mycroft used his lighter and lit first Sherlock’s cigarette and then his own. They both took a couple of drags before either spoke again. It was Mycroft who spoke first. “All connections and references of Mary being a part of AGRA will be purged, not simply sealed. She and Rosie will be protected and cared for.”

Sherlock sighed. “She was an assassin. We both know she will never really be safe.”

“I never used the word ‘safe’.”

Sherlock nodded to that. They lapsed into silence again as they continued to smoke. It was Mycroft who broke the silence again. “I was wrong.”

Sherlock coughed on the drag he was taking. “I’m sorry, what?”  
“When I told you that caring wasn’t an advantage. All the times I told you not to get involved. I was wrong to tell you to be that way. It was never in your nature.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly. “I was just beginning to think you were right.”

“Oh, I am right. For myself. Such entanglements are very bad for me. But not for you. They keep you right. It’s not going to be easy, though. Mary is going to have a lot of guilt towards herself and anger towards you.”  
“Now really isn’t the time, Mycroft.”

He knew Sherlock was right. So, they went back to smoking in silence. 

A few minutes later, Mycroft’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Lestrade. He sighed, but told Sherlock what the text said. “Mary is ready to go home.”

He looked at his younger brother and made some deductions about Sherlock’s current state of mind. Which basically amounted to his brain was literally broken. “I’ll take her and have Greg take you back to Baker Street.”

Mycroft texted Lestrade back to inform him of the plan. When the brothers had finished smoking, they re-entered the building. Mycroft coordinated the handoff so that Mary and Sherlock wouldn’t see each other. He didn’t think that would be good for anyone tonight.

Greg took over care for Sherlock. Since it was a weeknight, he didn’t have his kids, so per Mycroft’s instructions, he would be staying with Sherlock at least until Mrs Hudson returned.

Lestrade didn’t like how Sherlock looked. It was one thing for Sherlock to be in his own world, but this… this was different. Greg knew that a part of Sherlock had died when John had died. Each of them had experienced the loss. Even Mycroft. But Sherlock… He would refuse to see or acknowledge everyone else’s grief for possibly a long time. 

He gave a nod to the man in the Belstaff coat. “Come on, Sherlock, let’s get you home.”

Sherlock was numb. He just nodded and followed Greg. The drive back to Baker Street was done in silence. Both men had been there, seen, and experienced everything, there was no need to talk. When they arrived, Lestrade got his rucksack out of the boot of the car. He always kept a change of clothes with him, in case he needed to stay somewhere overnight. At the door, Sherlock used his key to let them in. He rushed up the stairs without a word to Lestrade.

Greg closed and locked the door behind him before making his way to Sherlock’s floor. He looked around the flat. It looked somehow dimmer just knowing that John Watson would never return. He placed his rucksack down on the coffee table and went to find Sherlock.

Sherlock was sat on his bed. He had taken off the Belstaff and his jacket, but hadn’t gotten further with changing clothes. He was just staring out seemingly not aware of anything going on around him. Greg was worried. He looked around the room and although Sherlock had avoided drugs since Rosie’s birth, he knew this kind of thing would push him over the edge. He ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry, Mate, it needs to be done.”

He started searching through the drawers and the wardrobe for drugs. After about three minutes, Sherlock spoke. “I don’t have any in the flat. No drugs. No guns. Not with Rosie around.”

Greg swallowed thickly but stopped his search and accepted the answer. He stood in front of Sherlock and held out his hand.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, unlocked his phone and handed it to his friend. Greg checked for texts sent and received and sighed with relief when he didn’t see any connected to a request for drugs. Greg pocketed the phone in his own jacket. “Take a shower, Sherlock, door unlocked. I’ll figure out what we should eat.”  
“I’m not hungry.”  
“Neither am I, but the case is over and I know you don’t eat right when you’re working a case.”

Sherlock nodded, got up, and went to the bathroom. Minutes later, Lestrade heard the water running. He sighed with a bit of relief. He looked through the fridge and saw that Mrs Hudson had provided enough meals to last more than a week. He smiled sadly, knowing he would have to call her to let her know what had happened. He would wait until a decent hour in the morning. He pulled out a few containers and put together two plates of meals. While they were heating, he took a quick look around the sitting room. He saw the red balloon – John substitute – that had deflated. He sighed at the irony of the idea. He took the balloon and decided to hide it for now. He could remove it when he left.

The microwave beeped notifying him that the meals were ready. He heard the shower shut off. He approached the door and knocked. “Sherlock, the food is ready. I expect you to come out in five minutes.”

He was slightly lying. His food was ready. It would take about three minutes for Sherlock’s plate to heat up. But, this way, he could make sure his friend didn’t do anything stupid. Either Sherlock knew what he was doing, or heard the microwave going, because he exited the shower just when the beeps finished. Sherlock was dressed in a pullover, pyjama bottoms, and his blue silk dressing-gown.

Greg handed one plate and silverware to Sherlock and kept the other for himself. He escorted both of them to the sitting room. He turned on the telly for some background noise. He skipped all the news channels and finally settled on a show about weather, figuring it would be the least likely to remind either of them of what had happened.

Greg sat in John’s chair and was slightly surprised that Sherlock didn’t protest. But he was also grateful for it. He didn’t want the chair to be empty. That would be too strong of a reminder.

Both men ate the food. Though they were slow about it. Still, eating was better than not eating in this case. And they did this mostly in silence. When Greg realised that Sherlock had eaten all he was going to eat, he set his own plate aside. There was something they needed to talk about. “I’m going to be staying here a few days. Just until Mrs Hudson returns.”  
“Why? I’m fine. John moved out a long time ago. I’m used to him not being here.”  
“Honestly, because your brother told me I had to.”  
“Mycroft is an idiot.”  
“Well, yeah, but if I don’t do as he says, he could get me fired, so I’m going to stay, all right?”  
“No. But if you must…”  
“You know I have to. All I need to know is where you want me to sleep.”  
“What do you mean?”

Greg sighed. “There are a lot of options. I could sleep on the sofa, up in Rosie’s room, or in a chair in your room, if you think it would help.”

He stayed away from calling the upstairs room “John’s Room”. He didn’t want to trigger that memory for Sherlock. Even though both men knew that’s why he said “Rosie’s Room”.

Sherlock sighed. “I’m not a wilting flower, George. I spent two years dismantling Moriarty’s network on my own. I can get through this alone too.”

Lestrade pulled a hand down his face. “The point is, Sherlock, that you don’t have to do it alone.”

“Sleep wherever you want. I doubt I’ll sleep tonight.”  
“Right. Well, give me your plate, I’ll clean up.”

Truth be told, Greg needed a minute. He was probably going to sleep in whatever room Sherlock was in. It would just make a lot of things easier. With Mrs Hudson out of the flat and Sherlock’s emotional turmoil, he suspected there would be a lot of violin playing. and it would be bad violin playing to start, so it’s not like he’d sleep much anyway. Also, there would be the high probability for drug use. He wanted to be ready to stop that before it could get started.

He went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. As he washed, he debated about giving them each a stiff drink, but decided that calming tea might be better. Dishes clean and set to dry, he filled the water kettle and turned it on. He went through the cupboards and found some Camomile tea. It was more something Mary would drink, but checking the date on the box and seeing how much had been used, he decided it was something that Sherlock wouldn’t oppose. He made up two mugs. He added a bit of milk to each but no sugar. They had enough energy with the adrenaline. He brought them with him back to the sitting room and offered one to Sherlock.

Sherlock accepted it without argument. Even sipped at it, which surprised Greg a bit. He sipped at it too. They sat there in silence for a long time. Greg couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to say something. Somehow address the events of the night. “He was right, you know.”  
“Who was?”  
“John.”  
“About what?”  
“You’re even now. You died to save his life and he died to save yours.”  
“I’m. NOT. Dead.”  
“Not physically. But you’re not the same man as you were before you jumped off Bart’s. You’re not even the same man before you were nearly sent on the suicide mission. It’s the same thing. All those deaths you experienced, you did for him.”

Sherlock hummed in reply and then set his mug aside. He walked behind his chair, picked up his violin, ensured it was tuned and then started to play Nocturne in C Sharp Minor by Chopin. He closed his eyes and escaped into his music. It made him think of the early days in his relationship with John, when he would play something soothing whenever John woke from a nightmare. And yet, this piece, being slow and melancholy matched his own mood at the same time. He couldn’t keep the tempos correct as he started to cry. When the piece became too complex to continue playing through his tears, he shifted into something a bit simpler: Pachelbel’s Canon in D. He continued to morph through a variety of classical songs for over an hour. He finally had to stop because even though his callouses had been built up again over the past few months, if he played for much longer, he knew he would probably break through them and then it would be weeks before he could play again.

Greg just listened to Sherlock in awe. The younger man expressed more emotion in those few songs than Greg had probably experienced in the entire time he had known him. When he saw Sherlock cry, he started to weep quietly too. When Sherlock finally stopped playing, Greg stood. He knew he was one of the few people allowed to do what he was about to, but it was time.

Sherlock’s back was to him as he placed his violin back in its place. When Sherlock turned and stepped around to the front side of his chair, Greg was stood there. Both men’s eyes were red from crying. Finally, Greg wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held him tightly. After a minute, when he was about to let go, he felt Sherlock’s arms wrap around him in return. Both men cried together held in each other’s arms.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Sherlock talked Greg out of calling Mrs Hudson. They were all sad enough, there was no sense in ruining her holiday. Besides, it was news best delivered in person. Greg reluctantly agreed. 

Later that morning, Sherlock was already tired of Greg’s hovering. They didn’t have anything else to discuss and John’s absence hung thick in the air around them. Sherlock was quickly discovering that because he had been gone for two years, John had become the glue that held them all together. Without him… Sherlock would be completely on his own again. He didn’t like that thought.

He had to figure something out. Had to talk to a disinterested party, but someone who would understand things without Sherlock going into details. He pulled out his laptop and looked up Ella Thompson. Upon finding her information, he contacted her using the landline and was able to get an appointment for later that afternoon. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he knew it had to be done.

The trick was avoiding Greg and Mycroft. He didn’t want them to know what he was doing. Since Greg already had his phone, they wouldn’t be able to track him that way and avoiding the CCTV would be easy enough. “I’m going for a walk.”

Greg looked at him for a long time. “No more than two hours. Give me your credit cards and cash.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What if I change my mind and want to take a cab? You’ve already taken my phone.”

Greg stared hard at him. “Then don’t walk that far.”

Sherlock looked at the clock. Ella’s new office wasn’t far from here. He could make it there, have the appointment and return in the time Greg was giving him. It was less than ideal, though. He huffed. “Fine.”

He grabbed his coat and made his way down stairs and out to the street. He didn’t have as long as he liked, and started to walk towards Gatefront Street. He could make it within Lestrade’s time frame. It would have to do.

Ella’s office was in the top floor of a converted church. Sherlock had never been the most religious person. But he was what most would call ‘Christian’ and he wasn’t sure how he felt about churches being converted for business uses. Still, it couldn’t be helped. He made his way up the stairs.

Ella greeted him with calm and pleasantness. Once he was seated, he didn’t know how to begin. He sat there in silence for a long time. Ella had gotten a lot wrong about John, but as Sherlock looked her over, he realised she got a lot right about him as well. She was probably better with grief than she was with military psychology. Which suited Sherlock’s needs.

She was clearly analysing him as well. Finally, she tried to get him to talk using humour. “This is a two-way relationship, you know.” She waited for him to reply. When he didn’t, she continued. “When someone you care for dies, I know it feels like the whole world is crashing down around you. Everything feels hopeless. But, I can’t help you unless you open yourself up to me.”  
“That’s not really my style.”  
“You reached out for help. If you’re not here for yourself, why are you here?”

A small quirk of the lips appeared on Sherlock’s features. If the situation were different, he might have smiled. Ella was better than he gave her credit. “I need to know what to do.”  
“Do?”  
“About Mary. About… everyone, really.”  
“Why does it fall to you?”  
“Because John is dead and it’s my fault. He… when I came back, he was the one who really brought us all back together. With him gone…”

Ella nodded. “You’re worried you’re going to lose everyone else too.”

Sherlock didn’t reply verbally. Only pressed his lips tightly together and offered a small nod. Ella tilted her head. “You didn’t kill John, Sherlock. And you can’t control the others. But the best way to keep those you care about close to you is to not push them away.”  
“They assume that my silence is pushing them away.”  
“Then use other ways to communicate with them.”  
“Like what? Texting is too impersonal. And I don’t like talking more than I have to, unless it’s for a case.”  
“Do you have other hobbies? Other things you do to express yourself?”  
“I… play the violin.”  
“That sounds like a good start. John will eventually be buried. You don’t have to say anything, but maybe playing a song would help everyone.”

Sherlock considered this option. “I feel… lost. Lost in a way I didn’t the entire two years I was gone.”  
“You had a reason to return. You felt everyone would be there waiting for you. They moved on with their lives, but you eventually regained your balance. Now, someone has left you with no possibility of return. Everyone around you is feeling that loss as well. But not everything has to change. You are still Sherlock Holmes. You can still solve cases. You can still help others. The rest all still have their lives and their jobs. You are afraid of losing something more. What are you afraid of?”  
“John Watson kept me right. He held me in check.”  
“Is there no one else to do that for you?”  
“Oh, I think they all would if I asked. But like I said, I don’t do this.”

Ella offered a fond smile. “Sherlock, you _are_ doing it. You’re doing it right now. And I don’t think anyone who really knows you will turn their back on you if you asked for help.”

Sherlock nodded in reply. He couldn’t disagree with that. “And how do I help them when we’re all caught in the same grief?”  
“You ask them. They may feel like you, that they don’t want to burden you with their grief. And they may not know what they need. It’s no different than your cases. You can only work with the information you have.” She paused for a moment. “But the biggest thing you need to do is to stop blaming yourself.”  
“That is never going to happen. If I hadn’t pushed, she wouldn’t have tried to shoot me and John wouldn’t have had to save my life.”  
“Then, perhaps ask someone you trust to help you to not do that again. You can’t go back, Sherlock. You can only go forward.”

He frowned. He didn’t like that answer, even if he knew there was truth to it. Finally, he nodded. “Thank you.”

It was time to go anyway. He stood and Ella stood as well. “Sherlock, you don’t strike me as the kind of person to need outside support often. But you can come again. There are no expectations of regular visits. Just… Know that I’m here when you need me.”

He nodded again and made his way out the door. It had helped more than he expected. Which was odd, because he didn’t really get any of his questions answered. And yet, he found a comfort in talking to someone who wasn’t in the emotional turmoil that everyone else around him held. That was what helped. That’s what provided balance. He would need a bit of time before he took cases again, but knowing there was someone he could reach out for help, was a strange sort of balm.

He made his way back to Baker Street. When he entered the flat, Greg had an early supper ready for them to eat. Greg looked Sherlock over. Checking his eyes and skin for any sign of drug use. Finding none, he asked, “Did the walk help?”  
“More than I thought it would.”

Greg nodded and gestured to the kitchen. “Dinner?”

Sherlock nodded and joined him. There was still a silence between them, but it wasn’t as pain-filled as it had been the night before. Maybe they could all get through this together. “Greg? Thank you for being with me.”

Greg smiled. Sherlock didn’t use his name often and he knew what it meant when the lad did use his name. “I told you a long time ago, I’d be there for you whenever you need me.”

Sherlock nodded. “And I’m here if you need me. I mean for more than just cases.”

Greg’s smile broadened at that. The two continued to eat in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Ten days after his death, John’s funeral service happened. It was a small affair. Although John had many friends and several relatives who should have attended, the secrecy of everything that had happened required it be limited to only those who knew what had happened. 

Mary had Molly deliver a short hand-written letter to Sherlock, explaining that she wasn’t ready to talk with him yet, but John would want him to be there, so he should attend. It also commented that everyone would be invited back to her house after the service, and he would be included. Molly, Mrs Hudson, Greg, and Mycroft also attended.

The weather was overcast, but dry. A surprisingly nice day, for this time of year in London. Mary held Rosie throughout the service. Clung to Rosie would be a better description. Both were dressed in black. Rosie’s bright eyes were the only bright spot to the service and her soft babbling made the group smile occasionally.

John was given military honours during the ceremony. The flag that draped his coffin was folded and presented to Mary at the graveside service. Once all the formalities were completed, Sherlock stood. He looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he shouldered his violin and played a composition that he wrote for John. Mary wept when she heard elements of the wedding waltz in the music Sherlock played.

When the service was finished, everyone looked at each other with a bit of awkwardness. No one quite knew how to end things. Molly looked to Mary. Mary nodded and handed Rosie over to her. Mrs Hudson spoke up, “As previously mentioned, everyone is invited to Mary’s house. Molly and I have arranged to have lunch provided for everyone.”

The little group started to go their different ways to make their way to the Watson household. Mary took her time and slowly approached Sherlock. She didn’t know what she could or couldn’t say. She started with the obvious. “It was beautiful. The music.”

Sherlock just nodded as he knelt down to put the instrument back in its case.

Mary glanced around them to see how much privacy they had. Seeing they were alone she took a breath. “Living the kind of life we’ve led… It was inevitable this would happen to us. That we would lose the man we both loved, rather than either of us…”

Sherlock finished packing the violin and sat on one of the chairs that had been set up nearby. He gestured for Mary to join him. She slowly did. “You are still Rosie’s godfather. And that is going to be more important now than ever.”

Sherlock tried not to sigh at the thought. He really did. “I never….”

Mary stopped him saying any more by putting a hand on his knee. “Don’t, Sherlock. Twice now, I should have gone to you first. I should have trusted you enough. And twice, my failure to do so ended up with people dying and the destruction of my family. So, I’m coming to you now. Rosie will never be safe with me as her mum. I’m working to get papers in order to transfer her guardianship to Molly and to you. Then, I’ll leave. Disappear. Never to be seen again.”

Sherlock’s head snapped to her at that revelation. “Mary…”

His voice cracked on the one syllable word, making it sound like three. Her leaving was the last thing he wanted. She and Rosie were the last real connections he had to John. He didn’t want to lose that. Mary shook her head to stop him from saying more. “Only Molly knows that I’m considering doing it at this point. And she thinks I’m doing it because with the work you and John got involved with, I need some kind of backup plan. She doesn’t know I’m going to be adding you as a guardian nor that I’m planning to leave.” She took a long breath. “I love Rosie too much to submit her to life with me as a mother.”

With that, she stood and started to walk out of the cemetery. Sherlock grabbed his violin case and ran after her. “Mary! At least let me accompany you back to your house.”

Mary turned and considered him. Her eyes as piercing as his own. She nodded. They walked to the street and Sherlock hailed a cab. They rode mostly in silence, making the occasional comment about the weather or a building they passed. Once they got back to the house, Mary was the typical hostess, making sure everyone was comfortable and had enough to eat. 

Not long after they had finished eating, Greg and Mycroft had to get back to work. Molly received an urgent page so she had to leave as well. Mary took Rosie to her room, to put her down for a nap. While she was up there, she changed into more comfortable clothes. By the time she came back down, Mrs Hudson had packed up all the food, put it in the refrigerator and had left as well. 

Sherlock remained. He was sat on the couch looking at a phone. John’s phone. Mary knew what he saw. The day after John died, his belongings had been returned to her. She had gone through all of them. And his phone, she had gone through to see what pictures he had. That was when she had come across his texts. Sherlock looked up at her and made deductions of his own. “How long have you known?”

She pressed her lips together in a line. “Like you, I am an idiot. I didn’t know. Or didn’t want to know. People like you and me can be incredibly obtuse when we want. It wasn’t until they dropped off his belongings. I just wanted something to hold to… I thought if I looked at the photos he took or read his last communications…”

She tapered off. She thought they would help. As much as John denied it, he kept going back and reading Sherlock’s blog when he needed a reminder of him. Or would call his voicemail to listen to his voice. Even two years later, she would catch John doing that.

Sherlock broke her from her thoughts. “So, you lied earlier. Because _this_ is the real reason you want to leave. You’ve been running for so long; you don’t know how to stick out the tough times.”

She shook her head. “Didn’t lie, Sherlock. I left out a detail that was so painful, I didn’t think you’d want to know it. A detail I wanted to ignore myself.”

Sherlock huffed and then remained quiet for a long time. “All I’ve ever wanted is to help you, Mary. That’s all. And instead of letting me help, you keep telling lie after lie.”

Mary’s anger flared. “That’s rich, Sherlock. You make half your living lying to others. Pretending to care when all you care about is getting your fix of solving crimes.”

Sherlock was about to argue against that. And then he realised, she was right, so he closed his mouth. Just then, there was a knock on the door. They frowned at each other. Mary shook her head to Sherlock’s unasked question. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

When she opened the door, a packet was handed to her. She didn’t recognise it. Sherlock stood and approached her. She tore it open. Inside was a DVD and written on one part of it were the words “Miss Me?” And under those words, the letters, “IOU.”

Mary’s hands started to shake violently. Based on what John had told her, she knew what this meant. Sherlock was far steadier. He approached her and held out his hand for the object. “Here, let me.”

He looked at all sides of the DVD and its case. He couldn’t make any deductions from it, so he turned to the entertainment system and put the disk into the player and turned on the tv. They stood there in silence waiting…

Suddenly before them, was the image of Jim Moriarty. He offered a nearly polite smile. “Hello. Did you like my little message a few months ago? It would seem you haven’t worked it out yet. So, I’m going to give you a clue. You were owed a fall Sherlock and I think it has finally happened. So, now, it is time for you to figure out the final problem.” He grinned manically. “Bye!”

Mary looked with horror at Sherlock, who just stared at the image on the screen. When she could finally find her voice, she spoke quietly. “He’s dead. You went into a drug overdose to prove it! So, how can this be happening?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He pulled out his phone and called Mycroft. “We need to meet as soon as possible. And get a security detail dispatched to the Watson residence.”

Mycroft didn’t like the sound in his brother’s tone. “Sherlock? What’s happened?”  
“I’ll explain when I get there. I won’t leave here until security arrives.”  
“I’ll clear my schedule.”

It was rare that Sherlock demanded security. Demanding meetings he did frequently, but not with the near panic Mycroft heard in his brother’s voice. Something terrible must have happened. Mycroft set things into motion right away.

Mary looked with worry at Sherlock. “I’m coming too. I can ask Mrs Hudson to come back.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Rosie will be safer with you here; we both know that.”

Mary shook her head, trying to disagree. But Sherlock just stared her down. Both of them knew that she could protect Rosie better than any security detail. Mary’s intent to run was because Sherlock was right, she didn’t know how to stay for the hard things. She nodded. 

He gently rested a hand on her shoulder. It was the first time he had touched her since everything happened. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “My brother knew more about you than I could have imagined. He never told me, though. Even after everything with Magnussen, he told me nothing about what he knew. Not until I started to ask direct questions. It’s time I face that and make him answer for it.”

Mary frowned in confusion; she didn’t understand what she could have to do with Moriarty. But, given what she knew about Sherlock’s time away, she thought it best not to ask right now. Instead, she nodded. She looked down for a minute and then looked back up at him. She suddenly understood what he might be really asking of her. If his brother treated him like this, well, maybe this wasn’t about her, but about Mycroft. “Sherlock? I can’t promise I’ll ever be able to stop lying. I’ve had to live lies too long for that.”

He nodded in return. “I don’t know that I expect you to not lie, Mary. But I want you to come to me for help. AGRA is gone. John is gone. You have Rosie to worry about, so let me help.” A very faint yet serious smile appeared. “I am her godfather, after all.”

Mary swallowed thickly, but it did bring a faint smile to her own features and she nodded.

Sherlock looked her up and down. “I know it sounds ridiculous to say, but you should try to nap while Rosie’s asleep. I’ll keep watch until the security detail gets here. Then, they’ll keep you safe. Moriarty believes he’s burnt the heart out of me now. It wouldn’t be his pattern to have any further interest in you.”

Mary reluctantly agreed, even though there was something bothering her about the last part. Still, she could get maybe an hour of sleep in before Rosie woke. She trudged up the stairs. 

When the security detail arrived, there was an extra car to take Sherlock to the Diogenes Club. He made sure to bring the DVD and John’s phone, with Moriarty back in play, maybe the two were linked. He ensured the house was locked and got into the car.


	5. Chapter 5

The drive didn’t take as long as Sherlock thought it would. But then, early-afternoon. Lunch hour rush was done and school runs hadn’t started. The driver stopped the car at the front of the Diogenes Club, Sherlock exited, and made his way to Mycroft’s office. Since Mycroft had notified dispatch that Sherlock was coming, he had no trouble getting through easily. Which was for the best. He wasn’t in the mood to make trouble for them anyway.

Sherlock entered Mycroft’s office without knocking and slammed the door behind him. “We have a problem. Or more accurately, _you_ do.”

He tossed the disc on Mycroft’s desk. Mycroft looked at it and back at Sherlock. “It can’t be.”  
“Oh, please, drop the act. Go on and play it. I think you’ll be pleased.”

Mycroft put the disc in his computer and watched it closely. Sherlock was watching for all his reactions. All the little tells that would tell him if his brother was lying or not. Mycroft didn’t like what he saw. “He’s dead. We have empirical evidence.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Then how can it be? Because the video mentions recent events.”  
“Sherlock, I don’t know. But I’ll get my people to work analysing the video as soon as possible.”

Sherlock nodded once. Now it was time for Mycroft’s eyes to narrow. “There’s more.”

Sherlock nodded and took out John’s mobile. He unlocked it and brought up the texts to show to Mycroft. Mycroft looked through them and shrugged while he put the phone back on the desk. Sherlock picked it up and pocketed it. “That’s it? A shrug?”  
“It’s texting, Sherlock. Everyone texts. Even you.”

Sherlock huffed. “It’s a specific kind of texting.”  
“Indeed. And he clearly ended it. I don’t see what the problem is.”

Sherlock tilted his head. “You really don’t. Don’t you think it’s a little suspect that this would happen so soon after the first message.”

Mycroft offered his ‘I’m appeasing you’ smile. “No. People text, Sherlock. John is a man and men sometimes text women back. It doesn’t mean he was cheating on Mary.”  
“Yes, it does. Or his last message makes no sense.”  
“He started to feel guilty for texting. Maybe he was texting at times he should have been helping Mary. We’re not in their marriage, we don’t know. But the balance of probability is that the texts have nothing to do with the videos.”

Sherlock picked up a pen and pad of paper off Mycroft’s desk. He scrawled the mobile number on the paper. “Investigate the number anyway.”  
“You might have forgotten, brother mine, that you already called in all your favours.”  
“Are you seriously going to say that the day we buried John Watson?”

Mycroft pressed his lips together. “Quite right. Apologies.” He picked up the pad and tore off the page with the number. He put it in his pocket. “I will contact you as soon as I have any information.”

Sherlock didn’t move. Not even a nod of acknowledgement. Mycroft sighed. “What else?”

Sherlock debated how to ask. But he just ended up sighing and being blunt. “Mary. I think it would be safer for her and Rosie to move to Baker Street.”

Mycroft considered and nodded his agreement. When Sherlock didn’t continue, he prompted. “But…?”  
“But I think she’s still angry at me. At herself. I don’t know that she’ll take me up on my offer.”  
“She may not. You can only offer, Sherlock, you can’t force her to do anything.”  
“What aren’t you telling me?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“For over a year, you said nothing about Mary. You knew who she was and what she was attached to, but you told me nothing.”

Mycroft shook his head. “I didn’t know she was attached to AGRA until you told me. I knew she was an assassin when I first met her, just like you did.”  
“On the plane, you asked her what she thought of MI5’s security.”  
“Any assassin worth their weight in the Twenty-first Century would have hacking abilities. It wasn’t a difficult leap. But I didn’t know she was a part of AGRA until a few weeks ago when you told me.”

Sherlock studied his brother again and decided that perhaps he was telling the truth. “So, you will contact me as soon as you know anything.”

Mycroft nodded. “I want to do a surveillance sweep of both residences, just so we don’t have a repeat of what happened before. Whether Mary moves in with you, or you with her, or neither, doesn’t matter. Protection will be provided until we know more.”  
“And if I refuse for myself?”  
“You don’t have a choice. This will be your payment.”

The brothers stared at each other for a long time. Sherlock huffed. “Fine.” 

He stood to leave, when Mycroft interrupted him. “If you do convince Mary to move in with you, let me know. I’ll strengthen security around Baker Street.”

Sherlock nodded and with that, he swooped out of Mycroft’s office and made his way back to Mary’s house. He had to convince her to move in with him. It would be safest for all of them. When the driver dropped him off, he checked his watch. It had been just over an hour. He debated how to enter the house. If Rosie and Mary were still sleeping, he didn’t want to wake them, but he didn’t want to wait longer than necessary either. Finally, he settled for knocking on the door and then using his key.

Knowing it would be an unwise idea to spook a former assassin who is emotionally distraught, he called out using his normal speaking voice. “Mary?”

Mary’s reply was a bit rough. “Kitchen.”

Sherlock entered and looked her over. Her eyes were red again. He offered a nod. “Did you sleep at all?”

She shook her head. “Couldn’t. Learn anything from Mycroft?”  
“No. His people will look into it. I… showed him John’s phone, he doesn’t think it’s connected.”  
“Is it terrible that a part of me hoped they were connected?”

Mary hiccupped and tears started to stream down her cheeks again. Sherlock wasn’t sure his comfort would be accepted, but he knelt in front of her and wrapped his arms around her back, placed a hand on the back of her head, and encouraged her to lean into his shoulder. She did. He let her carry on for a minute or so before he spoke gently. “It makes sense. If they were connected, then John wasn’t as willing a participant as the texts make it appear.” He sighed softly. “I’m not as convinced as Mycroft that they’re not connected.”

Mary looked up at him at that. “Why not?”  
“Because Moriarty loves to play games. And he’s used intimate texting before to get my attention.”  
“The Woman.”  
“Yes. Though, I think that was more her idea than his.” He took the phone out of his pocket and handed it back to Mary.

She accepted it and placed it on the table. “And if they’re not connected… John considered…”

‘ _Cheating on me’_ went unsaid. Both of them knew that’s how she would have ended that statement. Sherlock sighed softly. “Mary. The last text shows he ended it. I don’t think it went beyond texting.”

John’s voice came from the corner of the kitchen. “But I wanted more. At least for a while.”

Sherlock glanced to the corner of the room and shook his head at the sight before him. He could see John which was wrong on so many levels. Mary frowned as she followed his gaze to thin air. “Sherlock? What is it?”

If there was one person on the planet that he could tell what he had just experienced, it was Mary, but he decided against it for now. Mary needed his help. “Nothing. Listen, if the texts are connected to the DVD, you and Rosie would be safer at Baker Street.”

Mary was about to protest, but she heard John’s voice echoing in her mind. It was with the same concern he had expressed when they had found her in Morocco. “For once, don’t argue and accept help. He’s right. Mycroft can protect one location a lot easier than several.”

Sherlock caught Mary’s expression he knew what it meant. He had seen it often enough in the mirror. Mary was hearing something. He wondered if it was John. Not that he believed in ghosts, but people cling to others, especially when they’re desperate. “Mary?”

She shook her head to refocus herself. “It would be better if I left completely. Everyone would be safer if…”

Sherlock took her hands in his and squeezed them for a moment to get her to stop talking. When she did, he asked a pointed question. “When has running ever solved anything for you? I’m not saying move in permanently. Just until we solve this.”

Mary was too tired to argue any more. She relented. “Okay. But, we’re going to need more supplies than what you have. And it would be best if it didn’t look like I was moving there.”

Sherlock nodded. “We can coordinate with Mycroft’s team to bring additional items later. We just need to get through tonight.”

Mary shook her head. “This can’t end well. We’ve both lost too much for it to go well.”

Sherlock sighed. “When I was… away, I thought everything would be the same when I got back. And everything was different. People had moved on. The only ones who hadn’t really changed were Mycroft and Mrs Hudson. _You_ were the one that brought me back into the circle. And I don’t just mean by talking John around. You made sure that I was involved and stayed connected. You taught me all the relationships I had held meaning. It took me months to learn how to respect that. By saving my life, John conferred a value on it. It is a currency that I do not know how to spend. Let me start with this.”

Mary swiped away tears that had started to fall again. “Okay. Okay. John did that for both of us. I guess we can start there.”

Rosie started to cry. Mary gave a squeeze to Sherlock’s hand. “It’ll take about twenty minutes to get everything together.”  
“Ten if I help. Let me take care of Rosie, you get everything you need.”  
“All right.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the smile that spread when Mary said he could take care of Rosie. He made his way up to her bedroom. He peeked over the edge of the cot. “Hello, Watson. I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

She gurgled at him. He was surprised. He expected her to cry for her mother. He reached in and picked her up and patted her bottom as he held her. “Well, as Mycroft said, fully functional.”

He placed her on the changing table. He hadn’t changed her nappy in quite a while, but he was fairly sure he could remember how. “Now, you just stay still and this will be done quickly.”

Things were in a different place from where he kept them in his own flat, but all within easy reach. It didn’t take as long as he thought it would. Once Rosie was changed, he picked her up and cuddled her close. “I thought it would hurt more. Seeing you, holding you. But really, I’ve missed this. Don’t tell anyone.”

Mary was standing in the doorway when Sherlock said that. She smiled to herself. Maybe the time together would be good for them, after all. She made her way down stairs. She was fairly sure she had everything together. A few minutes later, Sherlock brought Rosie down.

Mary looked at them. “I’ve been thinking. It would be best if we didn’t go together.”

Sherlock looked at the two diaper bags and the Rosie-sized doll that were all near the door. He frowned. “What are you planning?”

“You should take a cab back to Baker Street. I’ll take one of the cars with all this stuff. I’ll leave the doll and one diaper bag with Molly, making them think I’m leaving Rosie with her. I’ll have the driver drop me off at Charing Cross. I’ll buy several different tickets and ensure they are all scanned. Then I’ll take the tube to Marylebone. I’ll walk to Baker Street from there. The driver can take Rosie, a diaper bag, and a suitcase to Mrs Hudson’s using her back door. That way I can get two suitcases of things there tonight.”

Sherlock frowned slightly. “You’re scared.”

Mary nodded. “Please let me do this. Rosie’s safety is what I care about now. This is the best way I can ensure that.”

Sherlock sighed, but he knew he had to compromise. Mary had to feel safe and if this was the way to make that happen, so be it. “All right. I’ll see you at Baker Street soon. I’ll text Mycroft the details so he can monitor.”

It took Mary the longest to get to Baker Street. But she had the most work to do. It was fairly simple to change her appearance slightly as she went through each step. Finally, she arrived at 221.

Mrs Hudson took in her appearance. “Oh, Mary. I hardly recognised you. But then, I guess that’s part of the point. Sherlock and Rosie are upstairs and I’ll bring some nibbles up in a minute.”  
“Thank you. The food at the flat won’t go to waste. We’ll have Mycroft’s people bring it back here in a couple of days.”

Mrs Hudson waved her off. “You worry about the silliest things. I’m glad you’ve decided to stay here for a bit. I think this will help all of you. And Sherlock hasn’t been himself without someone about and that’s been since he’s gotten back.”  
“I think it will take time before any of us adjust to this change.”  
“Isn’t that what I just said? Now, stop dawdling and get upstairs.”

Mary made her way all the way to the top floor and the second bedroom. She glanced over at the bed. The bed John had slept in for so many months. The bed they had shared on the rare occasion they took a kip up here. She sighed at the memories. She wasn’t in the mood to unpack, so after dropping off the bags, made her way to the main room. She was about to knock on the door, but instead watched Sherlock and Rosie conversing with each other. It made her smile in a way she hadn’t since John died. Finally, she spoke to him. “Well, you’ve taken in all the Watsons, haven’t you?”

He was smiling at Rosie, but answered. “I don’t think that’s me. I think that’s them.”

He looked up at her and offered a wink. He held Rosie up for Mary to take. She shook her head. “She’s happy with you.”

She curled on the couch in such a way that she could watch Sherlock and Rosie play. It was only a few minutes later that she fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Mary slowly stirred. There was a noise, but it didn’t sound right. It was too close. Then she was awake in a flash. Rosie was crying! She sat bolt upright and looked around. She wasn’t in her home she was… “Baker Street.”

She looked around frantically. Sherlock was holding Rosie and looked utterly perplexed. He was talking to the child. “Now, Watson, mummy needs some sleep. You’re going to wake…”

He stopped talking as he noticed that Mary was sitting up. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I did everything I could think of. She just won’t stop.”

Mary sighed and held her arms out for the baby. Sherlock passed Rosie over. Once Mary had her snuggled into her arms, she spoke. “Sometimes, a child just needs her mother.”

Rosie was still whimpering a bit. She had big tears on her puffy baby cheeks. Mary looked her over. “What time is it?”

Sherlock looked at his watch. “7.35. She’s been doing that for the last fifteen minutes.”

Mary sighed. A few tears escaped down her own cheeks. Sherlock noticed. “Mary? What is it?”

Mary nestled her head near Rosie’s and spoke quietly. “Same time. Every day.” She looked over at Sherlock. “She knows this is when her father died. There’s nothing that will console her. Can’t fix death.”

Mary hadn’t meant that the way Sherlock interpreted it. His face fell when he realised just how much pain and suffering his stupidity caused. He suddenly realised what it would mean to have Mary and Rosie living with him. This constant grief. Constantly being reminded of emotions he’d rather forget. Mary stood. “I’m going to try feeding her, sometimes that helps.”

“I... already tried, she wouldn’t take the bottle.”

Mary looked over at him. “I know. I meant I’d breastfeed her. I’ll be back down once she’s settled.”  
“Oh. Of course. That makes sense.”

Mary gave him a nod and made her way upstairs.

About forty minutes later, she returned with the baby monitor in hand. Sherlock had cleared off the table in the sitting room and had ordered some food. He was laying out the options when Mary walked back in. “Thank you for watching Rosie. That’s the best I’ve slept since…”

“…You looked like you needed it. Come on, I ordered some take away. Italian.” Sherlock had cut her off before she could finish her statement. They both knew how it was going to end.

Mary sat in her usual place, even though she wasn’t very hungry. They ate in silence. Neither knowing what to say to the other. Mary wasn’t about to ask if Sherlock had anymore thoughts about Moriarty. He had clearly been focused on Rosie and babies were a case of their own in his head. Especially his God-daughter.

Sherlock looked over at her. “I’m unclear why you would sleep better with me watching Rosie rather than Molly.”

Mary smiled sadly. “I don’t think it’s just the person watching, Sherlock. She looked around the flat. I’ve been here often enough without John, that it feels a bit more neutral than our place.”

Sherlock squinted his eyes momentarily. “You mean, you don’t have the same emotional attachments here that you do at your flat.”

Mary nodded. “But what about you?”

Sherlock looked at his plate and pushed the pasta around a bit before answering. He couldn’t lie to Mary. Which was odd, she was very good at lying to him, but he could never get away with it with her. “I wanted everything to be the same when I came back. I wanted John to be waiting for me here, but he wasn’t. I had to adjust to him not being here all the time. And he never had many belongings around anyway. I didn’t go up to his room often, so other than his chair, there’s nothing here to be a constant reminder that he’s gone.”

Mary smiled a bit sadly as she rested her left hand on top of the table. “I thought you didn’t know anything about human nature.”

Sherlock reached out and took the hand. “I’m getting better. I’m learning.”

The look in his eyes said that Mary helped him to learn. She deflected. “Seeing the world through a baby’s eyes helps with that. All of us have changed with Rosie around.”

Sherlock swallowed. Present tense. Mary was still using present tense. He released her hand and looked across the table to where John usually sat when they ate in this room. John was sitting there smiling at him. “She’s right, Sherlock. Even you are changing.”

Sherlock waved at the air, trying to get rid of the image of John. Mary looked around to see if there was a fly or some other bug in the air that she should be wary of, but didn’t see any. She looked down at her plate first. And then she looked over at Sherlock again. “I still talk about him in present tense. It bothers you. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It hasn’t been that long.”

While that was true, that wasn’t what bothered him. It was the fact that he not only heard John’s voice, like he had when he had been away, but now he saw his friend as well. Still, he wasn’t ready to explain any of that to Mary.

Time to change the subject. “Mary, I know this is going to be hard for all of us. But I need to know that you’re not going to run.”  
“I told you I wouldn’t. I even told you I’d try to stop lying.”

Sherlock stood and started to clean up the meal. Mary stood to help. He shook his head. “No. I’ll do this. I need you to sit.”

He gestured to John’s… the extra chair. Mary looked up at him. He gave her the same look he had given her when she first gave them her AGRA stick. John had been so angry with her. He had even said, ‘And then we decide if we want you or not.’ But Sherlock, as he had moved over to sit in his chair, had nodded to her and gave her an expression that told her everything would be okay. That was the only reason why she hadn’t run that time. Seeing that expression again now, is why she wouldn’t run tonight either.

She could tell Sherlock wasn’t washing the dishes. Just putting the food in the fridge and the plates in the sink. He returned and sat in his chair. They stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Mary spoke. “John was right.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “About what?”  
“All of us are even now. You killed yourself to save John. He took that bullet to save you. I shot you. John died getting shot. That’s a hell of a lot of coincidences.”  
“The universe is rarely so lazy.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I don’t know yet. Maybe something was always drawing us together.”  
“What? You mean like fate?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’m not as against religion as I pretend.”  
“You’re not against most things as you pretend. It’s why John knew he could ask you to be Best Man… and why we wanted you to be a Godfather.”

Sherlock offered a nod in reply. The pair continued in silence again. Mary suddenly stood. “I can’t do this. Not right now.”

She started to leave the room. Sherlock called to her quietly, “Mary?”

She stopped and hung her head. When Sherlock said nothing, she turned around. It took her a minute and she found her voice. “I don’t know what happened leading up to her pulling the trigger. I don’t know that I ever want to know. But you didn’t kill John. If I hadn’t run… all of that would have turned up differently and John would still be alive. And I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”

She turned and left the room, heading up the stairs. Sherlock heard the bedroom door close soundly. So, even if he had been able to come up with something to say, he was certain his words would fall on deaf ears. He decided to let her be.

He got up and pulled out his violin. He played “Star of the County Down”, which was one of the first pieces he had learnt to play when he was little. He listened for Mary’s footsteps as he could tell she was getting ready for bed. When he heard the bed springs squeak quietly, he brought the song to an end. He put his violin away and returned to his chair. He sat there staring into the fire.

About ten minutes later, Mary came back downstairs. She used the kitchen entrance to make her way to the bathroom. When she was finished, she peeked into the sitting room from the kitchen. She saw Sherlock deep in thought. She turned to go upstairs when she heard Sherlock’s soft baritone call out to her. “You’ll have to learn to….”

Mary frowned, but entered the room and tilted her head at him. “Learn to what?”  
“Forgive yourself. Or accept that you didn’t kill John. However you want to phrase it.”

She pulled a hand down her face. “And you think that’s easy?”

Sherlock shook his head. “We’ve both been assassins, Mary. We’ve both done unspeakable things to others, each to hold what we considered our moral high grounds. But, neither of us would kill the man we both fought so hard to save.”

He finally dared to look at her. Tears had welled in her eyes again. “I love him, Sherlock. And I don’t know that he ever really believed it. If he had… he wouldn’t have…”

She broke off, her tears wouldn’t let her say more. Sherlock was horrified to hear the admission. It had been so clear to him by John’s last words just how much he had loved Mary. He wondered if that was how he sounded to others sometimes. Lost and confused by things others said or did. 

Mary had turned to leave. To run and hide again. In that moment, Sherlock knew what he must do. He caught her arm before she made it to the door and pulled her into a hug. He held to her tightly, even as she struggled weakly against him. He knew she wasn’t really fighting him. Just like when he pushed others away, it wasn’t out of fear of them, it was out of fear of himself. She was fighting herself in the same way and he just had to wait it out. It’s what he always wanted others to do for him. Mary started to go weak in his arms. He slowly knelt to the ground with her in his arms. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for either, but Mary was crying properly now and clearly lacked the strength to stand longer.

He had never witnessed grief expressed in such a way before. It was overwhelming and he couldn’t stop himself from shedding a few tears as well. Eventually, Marys’ great sobs slowed to smaller tears and hiccups. When he knew he could stand it no longer, he spoke quietly. “Come on.”

He moved and helped Mary to stand before standing himself. Then he walked her over to the couch and helped her to sit. “I’m going to get some water. Please wait here.”

Mary nodded. She was too tired to move on her own anyway.

A few moments later, Sherlock returned with a box of tissues and a tall glass of water. Mary held out a hand for the glass, but it was shaking so much he shook his head. “Let me.”

He sat down next to her and held the glass with her. He let her have a few sips, then set the glass on the coffee table, and wrapped Mary up in his arms again. She didn’t fight him this time. More, she sagged into him as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even for a small time. “I’m… sorry, I know you don’t do this sort of thing. I just…”

Sherlock rested his chin on top of her head. “You feel safe in a way you haven’t felt since…”  
“…You showed me AJ’s AGRA stick.”

Sherlock only hummed in reply. They were both quiet for a minute and then Sherlock continued, “I made a vow to be there for you. This is part of that.”

Mary tried to be angry, but her tone lacked the strength. “And that’s the only reason why you’re doing all of this? Don’t you doubt if there’s something that I did that would make John consider… what he considered doing?”

Sherlock swallowed but Mary could feel him shake his head above hers. “Never. To both of those questions. In the short time we’ve known each other, you have been more family to me than Mycroft ever was. And you’re far more altruistic than you let on.”

Mary shifted in his arms slightly so she could look at Sherlock. “What do you mean?”

He offered her a weak smile. “The information Magnussen had on you, I knew Mycroft had to have some of it. So, after I woke up in the bolt hole from when you drugged me, I had a chat with him and acquired all I could. The rest, was just a matter of searching. You took the flash drive with you, but all the information was still open on my computer. All I had to do was save the documents to the hard drive and review them. You said you took the highest bidder, but all of your hits always had another component. The people you killed had done something horrendous, or you were saving someone from worse things happening to them. As I said when you shot me, it was surgery. Everything you did was calculated and executed with precision.”

Mary sighed and sagged into his arms again. “Well. Even assassins have their moral values.”  
“Not assassins. _You_ , Mary. That was all you. And I knew it without the proof. John learnt it, though he needed the proof.”

Mary pressed her lips together. “How much did you share with him?”  
“Does it matter now?”  
“Sherlock, please.”  
“Just enough. I told him about the second AGRA stick before I told you. I knew you would run. And I knew you’d take the memory stick. I showed him enough to explain that what you did as an assassin, what I did with Moriarty’s Network, and what he did in the War, were no different. It’s why he came with. He was afraid that if he wasn’t there when I found you that you would never believe how much he loved you.”

Mary quietly started to sob again. Sherlock adjusted his hold on her and held her tighter for a moment. “Mary, there’s only one thing that is consistent in all of this. It’s not that you doubt or question the goodness of others. It’s that you question the goodness of yourself. I don’t know how much I can help with that. But I know that if you don’t deal with that, you will eventually run. You and Rosie need each other more than either of you need anyone else. I have connections, if you want them. To help you through this.”

Mary shook her head. “Not tonight. I can’t process any more of this right now. I just need my brain to switch off for a bit.”  
“I know the feeling.”  
“Because you’re a user.”  
“Because I’m a user. It’s not a path I want to go down. So, if it’s too hard to get that help for yourself and for Rosie, consider doing it for me.”  
“I’ll consider it. Just no more tonight, please.”

With that Sherlock nodded and squeezed her again. Then he slowly stood and offered her his hand to help her to stand. “Bed.”

He was about to escort her all the way to the room, but she shook her head. “Thank you, but… This is something I need to do on my own.”

He looked her up and down, trying to assess how stable she was on her feet. Finally, he nodded and left her to go to his own room.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the week passed in a similar fashion. Mycroft’s people brought the rest of the items Mary and Rosie would need. The plan was to keep a watch on her flat for the week to make everyone think she was still there. An agent dressed like Mary went to Molly’s house to pick up the diaper bag and ‘Rosie doll’ and returned the items to Mary’s flat to complete the fiction. 

Both Mary and Rosie had fewer battles with tears and Sherlock found that everyone seemed to be settling in quite well. Mrs Hudson would come up to keep everyone company on occasion. The stiff sadness that had permeated everything since that terrible night seemed to slowly be lifting.

Sherlock was annoyed and bothered that Mycroft had no further information. He hated not knowing and he hated waiting. This particular combination would have led him to drugs in the past. But he wouldn’t do that. Not with Rosie around. He was her Godfather, and while he knew he could never be as good as John, he took the responsibility seriously now that John was gone.

He only took cases that he could solve from the flat and limited the number of clients who came in person. It wasn’t odd to have Mary involved, as she had often been there to meet clients, ever since she and John had reconciled. No one would be the wiser that she was actually living there.

One afternoon, Mrs Hudson brought the mail up to 221B and set it on the table in the sitting room. Sherlock had gone out on his first case out of the flat, but he would be back by dinner time. Mary was sleeping in her room while Rosie napped. 

When Mary got up, she brought Rosie down and put her in the play pen. While she was resting more, she felt less awake and clumsier. She knew she was probably just at the point where her grief could finally manifest itself physically. She might have to tell Sherlock she’d need a break from casework. 

Still, she sorted the mail, which had become one of her duties since moving in. Sherlock didn’t receive any personal mail, since his family either texted his phone directly, or knew his personal email address. She didn’t receive much in the way of personal mail either, and Mycroft had arranged for her mail to be reviewed before he forwarded it along to Baker Street. Mary had noticed a distinct lack of bills either for her or Sherlock. 

She picked up the pile and accidentally dropped it, scattering it all over the floor. That was when she noticed the bubble mailer. It was familiar. She covered her mouth in fear, picked up Rosie and rushed down the stairs to Mrs Hudson’s flat. 

Mrs Hudson looked her over. “Mary? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Mary nodded. “I might have. Can Rosie and I stay here until Sherlock gets back?”

Martha nodded and smiled warmly. “Of course, dear, you hardly have to ask. You know you’re welcome whenever you need to be here.”

Mary set Rosie down and gave her a few toys that were kept in 221A for when Mrs Hudson’s hip prevented her from the walk up the stairs. Martha watched Mary for a while before speaking. “Mary, why don’t you text or call Sherlock? You’re clearly worried by whatever has happened.”

Mary shook her head. “No. He needs to get out on cases once in a while. He said he’d be home by tea time at the latest. I… Just didn’t want to be alone.”

Martha nodded. “Okay. Why don’t I get us a nice cuppa going while we wait?”

Sherlock returned two hours early. When he reached the sitting room, he saw the mail scattered over the floor, and no sign of Mary or Rosie, he panicked slightly and shouted, “Mary!!”

Mary heard Sherlock and ran to the bottom of the stairs. “Down here. Let me get Rosie and I’ll be up in a second.”

Sherlock relaxed immediately. He looked at the mail on the floor and started to pick it up. That was when he saw the bubble mailer and realised what must have happened. He scooped up all the mail and dropped it on the table. Then he picked up the mailer and just held it in his hands staring at it. 

Mary appeared in the door with Rosie. Sherlock turned to her. “You should have texted or called. That case wasn’t that important.”

Mary tried to be casual as she put Rosie back into the play pen. “You needed the break to get out of here. Besides, you rushing back wouldn’t change whatever is in there.”  
“You were spooked.”  
“So are you.”

He couldn’t disagree with that. He took a breath. “Shall we?”

Mary wiped imaginary sweat from her hands onto her jeans and nodded. With that, Sherlock opened the packet. Inside was another DVD. This time the outside said ‘Consulting Criminal’.

Mary and Sherlock exchanged glances. Then Sherlock put the disc into his laptop drive. Mary stood over his shoulder to watch the display. On the screen was the image of Jim Moriarty. “So you’ve gone to your big brother. It’s okay, I understand. You can’t solve the problem yourself, so you’ve asked for help. It’s too bad you didn’t just come to me. But I’m getting bored. And when I’m bored I’m naughty. So I’m going to give you a clue. You see, I’ve been playing the long game. From the cabby in the aptly named ‘Study in Pink’, through the ‘Underground Network’, to even Magnussen. Nice video editing work, by the way. Well, I think that’s enough for one day. The Final Problem has yet to be solved, but you better hurry.”

The images flashed quickly, too quickly to really tell what was going on. Sherlock frowned and stopped the playback. He scanned the video backwards to where the images started. Then advanced the video one frame at a time. There were images of Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Molly, Rosie, Mary, and Sherlock. It was obvious all of the photos had been taken recently. 

Before he knew what was happening, Sherlock had his phone out and was calling his brother. “Get over here. Now.”

Then he hung up. After seeing the image of Rosie, Mary had rushed over to her daughter and picked her up. She clung to her with all her might, terror having overtaken her. Sherlock walked over to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to keep Rosie safe.”  
“How can you say that? He had photos of her. He knows she’s _here_.”  
“No. Come here.” He pulled up the photo of Rosie. “Look at her face. She was younger in the photo by at least a couple of weeks.”

Mary looked carefully at the photo then at the child in her arms. She relaxed a little when she realised Sherlock was right. “Okay. Maybe you’re right. Motherhood is slowing me down.”

Sherlock looked at her. “No. I think stress and grief are ramping up your hyperarousal responses. Quite natural in the given circumstances.”

Mary’s features softened slightly. “You should stop saying things like that or your façade of not understanding human nature will crumble.”

He winked at her and smiled. “That’s more like it.”

It took Mycroft an hour to show up. He watched the video several times and then sat in John’s chair to go into his Mind Palace. Mary had seen Sherlock do it several times, but it was fascinating to her to see someone else do it. Sherlock was sat patiently in his chair. Mary had no idea Sherlock could be so patient. While they were waiting, she took Rosie upstairs to feed her and put her to bed. It was early, but Rosie hadn’t napped well earlier so she went down fairly easily.

Mary returned downstairs and about five minutes later, Mycroft gasped. “It can’t be. If so, we have all been blind.”

He pulled out his mobile and started to send various texts. Finally, he placed a call. “Anthea. I need all the information gathered from Agent Merigen regarding the Underground Network. Send the files to my phone. And I won’t be returning to the office today, so handle as much as you can and redirect priority contacts to my phone.”

Sherlock and Mary both frowned at Mycroft. But it was Sherlock who spoke. “Explain.”

Mycroft waved him off. Mary stalked in front of Mycroft, blocking Sherlock’s view of his brother. “No! He is threatening my child. You will not wave this away. You will explain what you know.”

Mycroft swallowed thickly. Mary could be downright terrifying when she wanted to be. It wasn’t her words so much as her demeanour that scared him. “I won’t know until I review the files. But, the video mentioned the Underground Network. There was a trifle, just a hint. It niggled at the back of my mind when I originally read it. But when the crisis was averted, I let it go, thinking I was just getting caught up in my brother’s dramatics.”  
“Then, brother dear, explain it.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I deleted it. Hence why I need the files.”

Sherlock sighed heavily. He hated waiting. He also hated that he and Mycroft held in common that they deleted information when they found it no longer significant. It didn’t take long for the files to be sent to Mycroft’s phone. After reviewing them for secure information, he forwarded them to Sherlock so they could all look at his computer together. Mycroft still read them on his phone while Sherlock brought them up so Mary could see as well.

Mycroft started to explain. “Agent Merigen spoke to a station manager. A Colonel James M. No last name was ever mentioned, but there was a photo. There was something about it that bothered me.”

Sherlock skipped through the files to find the photo in question and brought it up on the display. Mary gasped and looked back at Mycroft. “But that’s…”

Mycroft offered a tight-lipped smile. “You are still at the top of your game, Mrs Watson.”  
“How could you miss it? They’re twins!”  
“Because at the time, he was the informant.”

Sherlock watched the exchange between his brother and Mary. He mumbled under his breath. “It’s never twins.”

Mary scoffed. “Well, brothers at the very least.”

Mycroft was typing away at his phone, more or less ignoring the exchange between Sherlock and Mary. He hummed in great disapproval. “We have been blind. You’re right, Sherlock, it’s not twins. But they look near identical. The age gap is three years. James was older.”

He sent the data to Sherlock’s computer. Mary and Sherlock read the information in disbelief. The image before them was for a Colonel James Moriarty. Station Manager with Transport For London. It was a stock photo from the TFL files. To be fair to Mycroft, if you weren’t looking for Jim Moriarty, you wouldn’t notice the resemblance. James had a full beard and in general was a little scruffier looking. With the beard and longer and messier hair, it was hard to tell they were related at all, except for the eyes.

It was Mary who finally continued the conversation. “So, Jim had an older brother named James. Parents weren’t very creative, were they? They look practically like twins, so James… inherited the Network?”

Sherlock shook his head. “There wasn’t a network left to inherit. I made sure of it.”  
“Brother Mine, you were only looking for one network. You didn’t know there were two.”

Sherlock’s attention snapped to where Mycroft was sat. His blue eyes icy with fury. “Don’t say it like you knew it! Between the two of us, you have far more to lose!”

Mycroft looked from Sherlock to Mary, and back to Sherlock. “Do I?”

Sherlock huffed. Mary started pacing. “Okay. Enough. It doesn’t matter where the blame is. At the very least, he has picked up Jim’s vendetta against Sherlock. So what do we do?”

“We wait.” “We send a message.” The brothers spoke at the same time.

Mary couldn’t quite tell which brother said what. She looked between them. “Not good enough. I have a defenceless child upstairs.”

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged looks. They were holding a silent argument over which suggestion should be used. Finally, Mycroft nodded agreeing with Sherlock. “We wait. You’re right, Sherlock. It’s never twins. But I do wonder how long to wait. He’s watching you, clearly. Sometimes a blunt message is better. And what is this ‘Final Problem’?”

Sherlock hummed. “James is the problem, obviously. But now I wonder if the Moriarty family isn’t like the Lernean Hydra.”

He was glad it was Mary and Mycroft he was talking to; he wouldn’t have to explain it. It was Mycroft’s turn to hum. “I will have to do some more investigating, but I believe their parents are deceased. Both men were genius enough to create separate networks, or to work alone, if needed. Meanwhile, all of you will be safe enough here. This seems more personal and I believe, for as tragic as John’s death was, it may cause James to focus solely on Sherlock.”

Now Sherlock stood and started to pace. “We don’t know anything about him, you can’t say any of that with certainty.”

Mary had moved to where Sherlock had been sitting and started to scroll through the files herself. She gasped and the Holmes brothers both looked to her. It was Sherlock who spoke. “Mary?”

She shook her head. “It can’t be a coincidence.”  
“The universe is rarely so lazy, do enlighten us.”

Mycroft’s professional tone helped Mary to focus and her own professionalism came out. “A title like colonel doesn’t just get used so publicly, does it? So, he has military experience. But not necessarily for any one team. Before I went freelance, when I was working for the CIA, we were following a ‘Colonel J.’ That’s all we had. No photos, no information about nationality. Honestly, not much of anything, which made it difficult to really track or find him.”

She was on Sherlock’s computer. She had downloaded a dark web browser and was using it to access hidden files. “But everything digital is accessible through the internet these days, if you know how to access it. It’s how Magnussen got his information about me.”

Mycroft nodded to her and spoke to Sherlock. “As I said, anyone with her reputation would have to have hacking skills.”

She was now typing quickly. The first three URLs she typed in didn’t work. “Oh! Idiot.” She was talking to herself and Sherlock smirked, he knew the feeling. “These files would have been back in the days of telenet and FTPs.”

A sudden realisation hit Sherlock. “You weren’t just part of AGRA. You founded them.”

She closed her eyes trying to remember the needed IP addresses, that the browser could still interpret. “Hush. I’m trying to think.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t used to Mary talking to him like that, but it was clear she was in ‘work mode’ and he had honestly only seen her like this when they had been in Magnussen’s flat. Finally, she opened a program within the browser and typed in a series of numbers for an IP address. Her fingers shook slightly as she pressed the ‘enter’ key. She smiled as a login screen appeared. “Now to see if the credentials still work.”

She typed in a user name and password and her hand shook stronger as she pressed ‘enter’ again. She held her breath and waited. While they were waiting Sherlock spoke. “What are you actually doing?”

“This browser accesses the darkweb. But it also masks your own IP address. There’s a subroutine in the program that allows it to mimic different computer systems. In this case, my first computer, a Radio Shack TRS-80.”

Sherlock smirked. “American.”

Mary rolled her eyes, she wasn’t going into this now. “My father picked it up when he was doing field work in the States. Anyway, the reason for using this system is they don’t expect computers that old to still be functional. The browser then mimics the old dialup and telenet systems. It’s so outdated, that most people forget that program even exists, so some of the old hackable backdoors were never properly fixed.” She stared at the screen tapping her fingers anxiously. “Down side is, it operates at 14.4 kilobits per second, so it can take several minutes for the connection to properly open and even longer to download anything of use.”

Mycroft offered a genuine smile. He was impressed with her. “So, patience is the key.”

Mary nodded. “But the rewards will be many if the information I’m thinking of is still available.”


	8. Chapter 8

Mary hadn’t been kidding about the need for patience. It took over two hours to download all the information she could get her hands on. Sherlock kept himself entertained by solving some simple cases, ordering dinner, and cleaning up after everyone had eaten. Mycroft had his mobile and kept busy enough.

Once the data was downloaded, she ran it through several decrypting programs and then encrypted it in a format that Mycroft’s team would recognise, thus entirely masking where the intelligence came from. She looked around on the table and found a blank thumb drive. She loaded the documents onto the drive and then handed it over to Mycroft. “Your people should have a field day with that.”  
“I’m sure they will. Thank you, Mrs Watson. I’ll be in touch if additional information is needed.”

With that, Mycroft left. It was just gone Nine and Mary moved over to the couch. Her neck hurt after keeping an eye on the computer for so long. Sherlock came back upstairs after seeing his brother out. He watched Mary for a few moments before speaking. “How young were you when you were recruited?”

Mary had told Sherlock she was going to try to stop lying. “Sixth Form. But I first caught their attention in middle school. I had seen the movie _War Games_ when I was eleven. I wanted to test if it was possible to do what happened in the movie.” She shrugged. “I hacked into Strategic Air Command, which back then was actually based in Nebraska, rather than Wyoming like the movie claimed. Anyway, I got a lot of attention for what I was able to accomplish at my age. Put on every intelligence watch list and I had to be very careful about hacking from then on.”

Sherlock had moved to sit on the end of the couch near Mary’s feet while she spoke, but he didn’t touch her. He wore a bemused expression, he caught that she was using both UK and US forms of identifying her school years. “Must have been tempting being so talented. You could have manipulated your school records and whatnot.”

Mary shook her head. “They accused me of the same thing. But that would have been boring. There’s no challenge hacking into school records when you can hack government systems. Which is what I told school officials every time they interviewed me. Which was often. Every time they were hacked, I was interviewed. It was never me. Now, the government interviews went a bit different. I knew better than the be so blasé. Mostly, that was a matter of showing them what school computers I had access to and records of my home computer usage as well. The hacks they accused me of were never me either.”

Sherlock’s expression morphed into a grin. “You mean they never suspected you of the ones you did do. It’s your drug. Your high.”

Mary nodded. “And I’m very good at it.”  
“As I have seen. So, you weren’t just recruited young, they started training you at that point.”

Mary nodded. “Better to have me on their side than not. The money was good and they fully funded my college education. If they hadn’t started to send me on missions, I would have gotten my doctorate. As it was, I had to settle for a Masters.”

“Computer Science?”

Mary smirked and shook her head. “I could have taught the classes on Computer Science. My Masters is in Psychology.

Sherlock smirked. “So, your stint at Bethlem was more review.”

Mary shook her head. “No. I studied psychology, not psychiatry. And working in such places as a nurse rather than a therapist is quite different. Though, my degree did help. And yes, it was how I was able to help you when you returned. Though, that probably had more to do with my own background. Anyway, I went to a liberal arts institution, so studied a little bit of everything. The thing with master’s programs, is as long as you have the prerequisite classes, your undergrad degree doesn’t matter. I earned a triple major in philosophy, political science, and physics.”  
“Political science was their requirement.”

Mary nodded. “Sadly, yes. There were a lot of other things I wanted to study, but not enough hours in the day.”

Sherlock smiled at that. “So, you really could give Mycroft a run for the money.”

Mary shrugged. “I can keep him on his toes and that’s enough.”  
“What’s your connection to Colonel Moriarty?”  
“I don’t have a direct one. But, after 7/7, he was on several watch lists. I’m honestly surprised Mycroft didn’t think of it sooner. At least I can blame it on motherhood slowing me down. What’s his excuse?”  
“Middle age.”

Mary chuckled softly as she looked at Sherlock. “I guess that will happen to all of us, in the end. Anyway, the documents should help.”

At that, Sherlock stood and moved to the computer to review said documents for himself. Mary turned on her side to watch him. He glanced over at her. “You’re tired, you did more work than the rest of us today. You should go to bed.”

Mary shook her head. “I’m not tired from that. That’s the most normal I’ve felt since…”

She tapered off, she couldn’t finish the statement and Sherlock didn’t need her to. He grimaced slightly. “I should have guessed. I’m sorry.”  
“No, Sherlock. We’re all grieving in different ways. You are not expected to know where I’m at in the process at any one time. Just like I won’t know where you are.”  
“You’re better at calling me out.”  
“I studied psychology, it’s kind of in my training to do that.”

Sherlock only hummed in reply. Mary smiled and gave a nod of her head. She knew she should try to get a few hours of sleep. Rosie went to sleep so early that Mary knew she would be up early. But there was something comforting about laying on the couch and feeling ‘at home’ in Baker Street, rather than feeling like a guest.

He straightened up taller when he noticed something. Mary caught it. “Sherlock? What is it?”

Not taking his eyes off the screen, he gestured with his fingers that she should come over to look. She didn’t really want to move, but the way Sherlock reacted to whatever he had seen encouraged her. She moved slowly and finally came behind him to read over his shoulder. “What is it?”  
“In the last video, he said he had been playing the long game. Well, he’s been playing it longer than we thought.”

He highlighted the part of the document that he had been reading. Mary actually took a step back in shock. “But he would have been so young. That happened in 1993. I was still in high school.”  
“The document says, ‘Connected to’, I doubt he planned it. Might have helped plant the bombs, though.” Sherlock scrolled to a different part of the report. “Here. He had been deployed as part of Operation Granby.

Mary couldn’t believe it. “But that was ’92. He would have been even younger. I can’t believe it.”  
“It would be entirely plausible he was only 16, that’s the age requirement here in the UK. And easy to presume he encountered supporters of Bin Laden while deployed.”

Mary skimmed as she read over his shoulder. “And it would make sense that attack could have given him ideas for the underground, given how the World Trade Center bombs were detonated.”

Sherlock hummed. “Planning and honing his skills until 7/7.”  
“But how did he attain the rank of colonel?”  
“That could have happened after the war ended. Here, it’s more of an administrative rank.” 

Sherlock paused in thought about how to explain his thoughts. He pulled up James’ CV. He scrolled through it. “Look for the dates.” He mumbled under his breath. Grinning, he pointed to them. “Look, he was frequently in and out of military service. As is common, both civilian work and military work are seen as cross-training. So, he received work credits for his military service and military credits due to what his civilian work entailed.”

Mary hummed. “That makes more sense. And if he started at 16, getting deployed quickly for Granby, then the rest of it falls into place.”

Sherlock nodded. Mary didn’t like this. “But he mentioned all the cases we thought were caused by Jim, and some besides. If he was older, then… he was in charge all along? If that was the case, what exactly did you dismantle?”

Sherlock shoved his chair back, anger surging within him. He very narrowly missed Mary. He cried out, “Exactly what he wanted me to! I was his pawn!”

Mary lifted a hand to try to calm him. “Rosie’s sleeping upstairs.”

Sherlock took a long, slow calming breath and nodded. “Sorry.”

Mary nodded and gestured that Sherlock should sit in his chair. “So, if he was controlling Jim, and the Underground Network… He mentioned Magnussen too. Is it really possible that he’s been controlling all of this all along? And why? What would be the point?”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. His palms were pressed together and his fingers rested just under his chin. Mary was ready to wait several hours for a reply when his eyes popped open again. “Because just like this has never been about Jim; it’s never been about me. Magnussen never really wanted you. He wanted Mycroft. Everything he did was to get to my brother.”

Mary offered a sad smile. “So, James and Jim. Mycroft and you. You’re right, there are no coincidences.”

She sat down in John’s chair and the pair just looked at each other for a long time. Mary tilted her head to consider Sherlock. She hummed quietly. “This isn’t something we’re going to solve tonight. It is a long game. Best thing for both of us is to get some rest tonight. We now have a sense of what the Final Problem might be.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. “We do?”  
“James lost Jim. So, James’ target is either you or Mycroft. But that’s not something we’re going to sort out tonight.”

Sherlock nodded. “Jim was clearly the more impulsive of the two. And by jumping off Bart’s, I have proved what I am willing to do. I think Mycroft will be his ultimate goal. It will be a matter of how to get to him.”

Mary nodded once. “I agree. But not something we’re going to fix tonight. Try to get some sleep, Sherlock.”

She stood, walked over to Sherlock and placed a kiss on top of his head. “I mean it. Rosie needs this brain in top condition. Get some sleep.”

Then she wandered down the hall to use the loo and start her bedtime rituals. When she was done, she made her way upstairs. Sherlock had moved out of the sitting room. She hoped he was going to take her advice, but she had a suspicion that he went for a walk so he could do more thinking.

Mary’s suspicions had been correct. Sherlock needed to think. While he had told Mary that Mycroft was James’ goal, he wasn’t entirely sure. She was correct, that it could easily be himself. After all, he had survived Bart’s roof, whereas Jim had died. If James was going for revenge, it would make sense to come after him. However, Mycroft had more power and influence. Sherlock was more or less a media personality these days, as far as power and influence were concerned.

He found himself on the rooftops. He wasn’t intentionally avoiding CCTV, it was just different moving through London up here. He didn’t go far, just to the top of Marylebone Station. It wasn’t the tallest building in the area, but with the underground and the train tracks, it gave quite a view in its own right.

He carefully sat down and thought about the Final Problem. A part of him considered John. John’s death in a sense would protect Mary and Rosie. Little else would be as big of a fall for anyone than losing the person they love most. But would it be enough to protect him? If so, then Mycroft was the target. If not, then he was. Mary was right, there wasn’t a simple answer and it was unlikely he would reach a conclusion tonight.

After about twenty minutes of just watching the city from this vantage point, Sherlock returned to Baker Street via the rooftops. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not, but Mary was right about that too. Rosie needed his brain in top condition. If Jim went after John, Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson, and if James had photos of everyone who was helping with Rosie, then any or all of them could be targets. His death would impact Mycroft and the others the most, but the death of any of the others would bring his own social network to the ground since he no longer had John.

He sighed as he entered his flat through the kitchen door. As he was getting into bed, he saw a little note in Mary’s handwriting: _Let Mycroft do some of the work. You’re not in this alone_.

He smiled at the note and set it down again. She had a point and he felt comforted that she was taking care of him while respecting boundaries he had made clear over the years. He lay down and pulled the covers over himself. And eventually fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next few days, Sherlock and Mary had both schooled their doubts and fears into something akin to patience, as they waited for word from Mycroft. On one nice afternoon, Mary had decided to take Rosie for a walk around Regent Park using the papoose. A security detail followed her, of course, but all seemed to be going well and she felt safe enough.

Mrs Hudson took the opportunity to check on Sherlock for herself. She made her way up the stairs with a tray of tea and biscuits. Sherlock was looking over his computer. She saw him. He looked, sad. She cleared her throat. “Sherlock, you’ve hardly taken a break since everything happened.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Work is the best antidote to sorrow.”  
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Here. I brought you some afternoon tea.”

She placed the tea by his table, but when she turned to leave, he called to her. “Mrs Hudson?”

She turned back to face him. “Yes, Dear?”

He took a long breath before continuing. “If you ever think I’m becoming a bit full of myself, cocky, or over confident…”

She sat down in John’s chair, worried. “Yes?”

He finally looked over at her. “…Would you just say the word ‘Norbury’ to me, would you?”  
“Norbury?”

He nodded. “Just that.” He paused again as he pressed his lips together. “I would be very grateful.”

He turned from her to look back at his computer. But he paused again, picked up his tea, and took a sip. “Thank you.”

Mrs Hudson frowned a little in confusion, but realising that his statement was equal parts gratitude and dismissal, she returned downstairs. She was just entering 221A when Mary entered the front door. “Hello, Mrs Hudson.”  
“Oh, Mary. How was the walk?”  
“Short. Apparently, it’s too sunny out for Rosie, but I enjoyed it while I could.”

Even now, Rosie was still mewling. Mrs Hudson smiled. “Here let me take her so you can get out of that contraption.”

Mary handed the baby to Martha and worked on getting the papoose off while Mrs Hudson babbled at the baby. Mrs Hudson then spoke to Mary. “I took some tea up to Sherlock. Should be enough for you too, unless he drank it all.”

Mary hung the papoose up on one of the pegs and then kissed Martha on the cheek as she took Rosie back. “You’re a gem, thank you.”

Martha twisted her hands together and decided to tell Mary what had happened. “Talk to Sherlock. He’s in a funny way today.”

Mary paused on the stairs. “Funny how?”  
“He looked sad. And asked me if I ever thought he was getting over confident to say the word ‘Norbury’ to him.”

Mary looked up the stairs to the flat and back to the woman. “Norbury. You’re sure that’s what he said?”

Mrs Hudson nodded. Mary sighed, but her tone was serious. “Hold to that word, Mrs Hudson, and of course I’ll talk to him.”  
“Thank you, dear.”

Mary made her way up the stairs. Rosie was much calmer to be out of the sun. Mary intentionally hit every squeaky stair on her way up, just to ensure Sherlock knew she was back. 

Sherlock’s brusque tone broke out. “I know what you’re trying to do, Mary. It’s entirely unnecessary.”  
“Oh, well, fine, then. I suppose you’re ready to take Rosie for a bit?”  
“You weren’t gone that long.”  
“Apparently, she’s a vampire and hates the sunlight.”

Mary’s tone was only slightly amused and Sherlock frowned for a moment, as he held out his arms for his God-daughter. “Watson, what have I told you about letting your mum enjoy some things too, hmmm?”

Mary stretched her arms above her head until her back popped. She looked at the tea tray and lifted the lid of the kettle. “Oh, good, enough for me too.”

Sherlock hummed, he was completely focused on the baby, but he spoke to Mary. “Yes, unlike Rosie, I know how to share.”

Mary actually snorted with laughter as she poured her tea. “Since when?”  
“Well, I’m working on it.”  
“That’s better.”

She sank into the chair and sipped at the tea while she watched Sherlock and Rosie. She smiled. “You two are really good for each other.”  
“But that’s not what you want to talk about. Mrs Hudson told you.”  
“It’s not _just_ what I want to talk about. And yes, she did.”

Sherlock hummed as he doted over Rosie. Mary sat there calmly sipping her tea. She hoped he would eventually grow sick of her silence and talk to her. After about five minutes, Sherlock finally spoke. “I never saw myself as married to anything other than my work, so being a father was the farthest thing from my mind. But Rosie needs a father-figure in her life. That’s my fault. And I will do everything I can, not to replace John, but to give her as much as I can that he would have given her.”

Mary swiped at a tear that had fallen down her cheek. She wasn’t sure what part made her tear up the most: that Sherlock blamed himself for John’s death or that he wanted to be Rosie’s dad. Both. Definitely both. She would work her way backwards. “Rosie is lucky to have you in her life.” She paused for a moment. “Sherlock, I…” She paused again. “What makes you think John’s death is your fault?”

Sherlock’s playful actions with Rosie stuttered. “You weren’t there. I thought you said you didn’t want to know.”  
“If knowing means I can better understand the blame you’re putting on yourself, tell me.”  
“I pushed.”  
“How?”  
“You know how.”  
“You offered deductions without thinking of consequences.”

Sherlock nodded. “John tried to warn me. But, I never listened to anyone when they’ve warned me about that.” 

He paused, collecting his thoughts. Mary could see the emotion building inside of him, but she could also see him maintain control, because he was holding Rosie. She couldn’t help but smile at that. Sherlock continued, “I told her she out-witted everyone, except for me. And that’s when she decided to shoot me.”

Mary swiped at another tear. She knew exactly what happened next. But Sherlock kept talking before she could interrupt. “John jumped in front of me.”

That startled Mary. She shook her head. “No, Sherlock.”  
“I was there, Mary, you weren’t.”  
“I know John Watson. He would never allow anyone to die if there was a way to save them. Including himself.”  
“He was suicidal when I first met him.”  
“Yes, and when I first met him too. We both helped him with that. He would want both of you to live. Where was the bullet wound, Sherlock?”

He looked down at his body and touched the place on his chest where the bullet had caught John. Mary nodded. “Use your skills and make a deduction. What was John planning that would have caused the bullet to hit him there?”

Sherlock didn’t want to go back there, didn’t want to relive that moment, but Mary was asking him questions, ones that she deserved an answer to. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to take in the entire scene again. He could see where everyone was standing, could see the way Vivian was holding the gun, the trajectory the bullet would have taken. With the eyes of an outsider, he watched as John leapt… and then the intention slammed into him.

He gasped and opened his eyes. “He missed.”

Mary had noticed a tear slide down Sherlock’s cheek, which made her tear up again. She didn’t wipe them away this time. She nodded. “John Watson, a military soldier, invalided home from Afghanistan. Father, husband, and best friend. He would never let anyone die, if he could stop it. He had planned to push you out of the way, taking both of you to the ground….”

Sherlock wrapped Rosie up into his arms and held her tight as he started to cry. Mary set her tea cup down and moved over to sit on the armrest of his chair. She wrapped her arms around both of them. Rosie didn’t seem to mind being swaddled in this way. Finally, Mary continued, “John’s death isn’t your fault, Sherlock.”

Sherlock was weeping too hard to reply. When he finally tried to look up, he saw John sitting in the chair across from him. John was grinning with pride. “My family. You need to take care of each other. And never forget I love you. I love all of you.”

Sherlock, Mary, and Rosie remained wrapped in each other’s arms until the baby started to squirm and get uncomfortable. Mary and Sherlock tried to wipe their tears away and giggled softly as they broke apart. Mary looked from Rosie to Sherlock and back again. She sighed with a bit of contentment. “Our family, right, John?”

Sherlock looked up at her, unsure if she had heard and seen John as he had. But he realised, in that moment, he didn’t care. And he said something he never thought he’d admit to anyone. He looked over to where John was no longer sitting. “I love all of you.”

  
Mary smile. “We love you too, Sherlock. Never forget that.”

Sherlock stood with Rosie and started to move around the room. “And that’s enough of that for one day.”

Mary giggled softly, but everything felt lighter. Better. She started to wonder if she should just move into Baker Street. Well, no. Might be a bit early for that. Solve the case of Jim and James Moriarty, then they could consider next steps.

Mary cleared up the tea as Sherlock continued to play with Rosie. She had just finished drying her hands when she heard Mycroft’s steps coming up the stairs. She caught Sherlock’s attention. “It’s naptime anyway. Let me put her down and I’ll be right back.”

She took the baby from him and went upstairs. After settling her she came back down. The brothers were having a staring contest. “I hope all of this isn’t over me.”

Since Mycroft had taken John’s chair, Mary pulled a chair from the table to sit near Sherlock. Mycroft looked from one to the other. “You seemed to have settled in quite nicely, Mrs Watson.”

She didn’t like his tone. “Well, it’s better than being alone.”

She bit her lip and looked at Sherlock. “Sorry.”

Sherlock minutely shook his head. He had bigger fish to fry right now. “Stop procrastinating, Mycroft, and tell us what you’ve learnt.”

Mycroft reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file folder. He handed it to Sherlock. Mary shifted so she could read over Sherlock’s shoulder. Mycroft gave the briefing as they flipped through the pages. “Margaret and John Buckley died in a house fire in Newry, in 1978. After an investigation, it was shown to be arson. Though the culprits were never caught, it was attributed to events surrounding The Troubles. Their sons, aged five and two, survived. Due to how care homes were mismanaged back then, the boys were separated. James, who was five, was sent to St. Agnes home in the same city. Timothy, or Tim as the family nicknamed him, at age two was adopted by a Belfast family with the surname of Moriarty. When he was seven, the family moved to Brighton.”

Mary murmured. “Tim – Jim. They asked him his name and misunderstood what he said.”

Mycroft nodded. “Seems the likely explanation. It was an oddity of fate that they both ended up with the last name of Moriarty. Due to the events surrounding The Troubles, some care homes took to providing new surnames to the children. It was just a fluke of the order of names being used that James ended up with the same last name as the family who adopted Jim. It is difficult to tell from records if they ever discovered their true surname. Getting James homed proved to be difficult, so he remained in care. But due to shoddy paperwork, neither knew the other existed until after The Troubles ended.”

Sherlock was flipping back and forth through the papers. “So how did they meet?”

“Patience, brother mine. As you’ve learnt from the files supplied by Mrs Watson, James entered the military as soon as he was eligible. I won’t go into more detail with him, since the files you’ve already read provided more than I ever had. And Sherlock knows the rest about Jim, given the research he’s already done.”

Mary noted that the Government still hadn’t answered his brother’s question. “Mycroft, how did they meet? And why pick on you two?”

Mycroft stared at the handle of his umbrella for a long time. “In part, Sherlock and I represent everything they didn’t have growing up: wealth, stability, and each other.”  
“Jim called me boring because I was on the side of the angels. He called himself a specialist, which is why I named him a consulting criminal.”  
“Sherlock and Jim were foils for each other. And I imagine, James sees himself and myself as foils for each other.”

Mary shook her head. “Mycroft, why don’t you just go in and arrest him? Surely, you have enough evidence now.”

Mycroft nodded. “We lost track of him after the Underground bomb was discovered. And had no additional contact with him. Well, until now. I can’t tell if Jim ever knew of the existence of his brother. James, though… is proving to be rather a mystery. And clearly, he knew of Jim. I think it’s possible Jim or one of his associates contacted James for assistance a time or two.”

Sherlock frowned at that. “Why? What’s happened?”

Mycroft opened his bag again and pulled out a disc. He handed it to Mary. She accepted it and read it out loud for everyone. “'Well done, you.'”

She turned to Sherlock’s laptop and inserted the disc. James image came up. “So, the Ice Man and the Virgin needed help. It’s a good job they have Mrs Psychopath to guide them along their way. She’s closer to solving the problem than the two of you could have hoped to be on your own. Don’t be obvious. She is safe enough. But there are others. The ones my brother would have never thought about. But I’m thinking of them. Constantly. It’s going to start soon and your worlds will be torn asunder.”

The video ended. The three looked to each other. Mary murmured. “Worlds will be torn asunder. Who did Jim ignore that would impact all of us?”

Sherlock hummed. “Molly Hooper.”  
“Too obvious, little brother.”

Mary gasped as she stared at Mycroft. “Would he be so brazen?”  
“I think we have to consider he might.”

Sherlock growled. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Mary was distraught. “But your parents?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be my last regular update for awhile. The stress of COVID as well as local tragic events have zapped my creative energy. I'm still very interested in writing this story, so it's far from abandoned, updates will just be slow going forward.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock, Mycroft, and Mary looked between each other as the horror settled in around them. Mary liked the Holmes’ parents. In fact, after everything with Magnussen, she and John had stayed with them a few days, trying to keep their spirits up during the holidays after Sherlock had been detained. In her mind, she had adopted them as her parents, since she could never see her own parents again. She thought about everything presented. “Something’s wrong. It can’t be this simple.”

She reached over and grabbed all of the documents out of Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock protested, but Mary just ignored him. “House fire. Arson. Attributed. But nothing confirmed.”

She handed the documents back to Sherlock and looked at Mycroft. “Pyromaniac?”

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up as he too looked to Mycroft for confirmation. Mycroft sighed heavily. “We don’t know. But, given his involvement in bombings, it seems likely. That is why I think he will go after mummy and father.”

Mary frowned. “So how do we keep them safe? We can’t all fit here, and the country, while seclusion gives the illusion of safety, can be difficult to protect.”

Mycroft nodded. “I think he’ll go after them, no matter where they are.”  
“We could send them to the States. They like to travel. Maybe request a travel ban on him?”

Mary shook her head in reply to Sherlock. “Travel bans never stopped me. They are too easily defeated and the US’ ability to enforce them depends upon which part of the country you’re travelling to.”

Sherlock frowned, he wasn’t used to Mycroft and Mary agreeing with each other. Especially when they were disagreeing with him. “So, we just let them go on with what they do?”

Mycroft sighed. “Brother dear, you know as well as I, they will do as they please. I think the best thing to do is provide as much security as they will allow and not worry about them. We already have the best home security system available installed. I can set up a small remote office in town and have it staffed by tomorrow. Beyond that, I think it’s really best to let it be.”

Mary nodded. “So, what do we tell them?”

For the first time since all this started, Mycroft looked disappointed with Mary. “Oh, Mrs Watson, you should know better. We tell them nothing.”

Mary looked at him with disbelief. “You’re not going to warn them? I would want to know if it were me.”

Sherlock cut in. “With my parents, especially mother, it’s really best to not. Dad could handle it. Mother would just decide if she was going to die anyway, she may as well enjoy herself.”

Mary raised her eyebrows at that. “Interesting take.”

The brothers answered simultaneously. “She has a lot to answer for.”

Mary couldn’t help but smile at that. “Fair enough. So, how do we catch him?”

It was Sherlock who took over now. “Technically, this is all circumstantial. We’ll have to draw him out of his hidey-hole and hopefully catch him in the act.”

Mary nodded. It made sense. She looked over at Mycroft. He was looking intently at his umbrella. As if it held the answers to all his questions. He took a breath. “It would be exceptionally unfair to ask this…”

“Then don’t.” Sherlock cut him off. He knew where this was going and he didn’t like it one bit.

Mycroft gave his brother a disapproving look. “It’s the best way and you know it. You’re too well known.”

Sherlock pursed his lips but nodded in agreement. The brothers then looked at Mary before Mycroft continued. “Mrs Watson, I think you are the best person for this. You have the knowledge and experience. And had Sherlock not put a tracking device in the USB, I hazard to say even I, with all my contacts, wouldn’t have been able to trace you.”

Mary looked up at the ceiling but the brothers knew she was actually looking towards Rosie. “I’m a mother now. J-john is d-dead. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Sherlock swallowed hard and glared at Mycroft for a moment. When his gaze shifted to Mary, it softened. “Mary, you know that no one will be safe as long as he’s out there. Mycroft is right, you’re the best person for this.”

Mary shuddered. She closed her eyes, already making plans. “I’ll take Rosie. We’ll go out to your parents’ house. Stay there a few days. Then I’ll come back to London.” She bit her lip. “How much can I tell them?”

Mycroft nodded in approval of her plan. “They know what we do for a living. It would be appropriate to ask them to take care of Rosie while you do some undercover work for me. I will make the necessary arrangements so that you can contact me.”

Sherlock nodded. “Best to come back under cover of the homeless network.”

Mary grimaced. “I haven’t done that in years.”  
“Which is why no one will suspect you would do that.”

Mycroft hummed. “It’s a start. We can make more plans from the cottage.”

With that he stood and exited the flat. Mary and Sherlock sat in stunned silence. Sherlock recovered his voice first. “I didn’t think you would agree to that… with Rosie…”

He tapered off. Mary sighed. “Well, your parents are the closest she has to grandparents.” She paused for a moment. “You had all the AGRA files. Did you ever read them?”

Sherlock shook his head. Mary also nodded in reply. “I’ve made provisions, for Rosie should anything happen to me. If my parents are still living… She should at least see them occasionally.”  
“Mary, don’t. This isn’t good-bye. It’s not final. Rosie will be well cared for until you return. You know that.”

She nodded. “Yes, but I’m an assassin. There are dozens upon dozens of people who would gladly see me dead. Samara can never be avoided.”

Sherlock frowned and looked at her. “What do you mean by that?”  
“An old fable I heard once. A merchant in a crowded market in Bagdad who saw a stranger looking at him in surprise. He knew the stranger was death.”  
“And he fled many miles, ending up in Samara, where death was waiting for him.”  
“Samara can never be avoided, Sherlock. Perhaps delayed, but not avoided. So, preparations have been made.”

Sherlock shuddered at the thought and looked up at the ceiling as Mary had done earlier. Only he was looking at ‘John’s Room’. John often joked that Sherlock would be the death of him. He sighed heavily, realising that Mary was right. Finally, he nodded. “I understand.”

Just then Rosie’s cry rang out. Mary smiled. “Well, she of course timed that so I wouldn’t get any rest. I’ll go get her up, would you make some food for her?”

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll take the more positive position, that she knows we need the distraction. It’s not like we’re going to do anything for a few days anyway.”

Mary nodded and left to take care of the baby. By the time she came down, Sherlock not only had Rosie’s food ready, but a decent portion of leftovers for the adults to eat as well. Mary put the baby in the highchair and took the seat furthest away. “It’s your turn, Sherlock.”

Sherlock groaned playfully, but was glad that Mary trusted him enough to let him attempt to feed the little girl.

Surprisingly, Sherlock got Rosie to eat more than make a mess. He looked around the flat. “I’ve been thinking, maybe I should pay to have 221-C remodelled and move all of my experiments down there.”

Mary chuckled softly as she sipped at her tea while she watched the others. “And what would you remodel it to?”  
“My lab, of course. I could also make it an alternate meeting place for clients. After all, when Rosie gets to school age, she’ll need the sitting room for space to do homework.”  
“Sounds like you’re expecting this to be a permanent arrangement.”  
“Well, only if you want to, of course. But even if you two aren’t living here, there will be times she’ll be staying here.” He paused and frowned as if he had spoken out of turn. “Won’t there?”

Mary smiled brightly, as if some great weight had been lifted from her. “Yes, there will. Don’t commit to anything just yet, but I think a conversation with Mrs Hudson about it would be a good start.”

Sherlock relaxed as well and decided this was a good plan. Besides, it would give him something to do while Mary and Rosie were gone. He was already missing them and they were sat right here in the same room with him. “It’s strange.”  
“What is, Sherlock?”  
“How much I enjoy having the two of you here. I mean, I’ve always liked it when you visited. But I never thought I’d enjoy this sort of arrangement as much as I am.”

Mary’s smile turned fond. “I’ve enjoyed it, too. But I’ve always felt a sense of being at home here.”

Sherlock looked over at her. “You’re an assassin. Not just any assassin. A well-paid one. I bet you don’t even have to work any more. So why do you?”

Mary shrugged. “It’s like you said in that ‘Empty House’: ‘The doctor’s wife must be getting a little bored.’ Nursing kept me entertained. Grounded.”  
“But you don’t have to do work to earn money.”  
“No, I suppose I don’t. Just to keep myself from getting bored. Like you.”

Sherlock nodded and mumbled. “Like me.”

Mary frowned as she watched many expressions cross Sherlock’s features quickly. The man was clearly struggling with something and she didn’t know how to help him. She waited quietly to see if he would continue. 

Making a decision, he stood and moved the two steps to stand in front of her. “Mary.”

She looked up at him. “Yes, Sherlock?”  
“Can… I… Have a… hug?”

Mary was so shocked by the request; it took her a moment to process what Sherlock was asking. She would be lying if she said she didn’t need one herself. But she would never impose herself on Sherlock in such a way to even ask. She nodded solemnly and stood. “Of course, Sherlock. I can do that for you.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her embrace. Sherlock lent his cheek on top of her head and just stood there holding her. Neither said anything. They didn’t have to, the action of the hug said more than they could with words. She could feel Sherlock’s body shake with the tears he was shedding. She didn’t want to interrupt that, so she just held him closer and let him cry himself out.

After a few minutes, Sherlock slowly pulled away. He kept his face turned so he could hide some of the tears. “Thank you.”  
“Whenever you need it. You only have to ask.”

With that, Sherlock took Rosie out of her chair and started to get her cleaned up. It was almost as if the hug had never happened. Mary wasn’t bothered by that and she first checked the living room, to make sure it was safe for Rosie to play in, then returned to the kitchen to clean up from their meal.

Later that night, after Mary had put Rosie down and gone to bed herself, she heard a soft melancholy song being played on the violin. She slipped a bathrobe on, tucked the baby monitor into her pocket and made her way to the sitting room. She just listened for some time. A part of her wondered how often John had done this. A few steps up from her, she heard his voice answer. “ _More than I care to admit_.” There was a pause and then John’s voice encouraged her. “ _Go to him, he needs you_.”

Mary honestly thought that in moments like this, Sherlock would much prefer being alone, but since it was John directing her, she opted to follow his advice. She stood and slowly made her way into the sitting room. After a few more minutes she sat in what was quickly becoming ‘her chair,’ and just listened to the music.

She doesn’t know when she fell asleep, but the silence is what woke her. She opened her eyes and saw Sherlock looking out the window. His back was to her. 

Sherlock’s quiet voice broke into the silence. “When I was a boy, I had a dog. Redbeard. He wasn’t allowed on any of the furniture. But every night, he would sneak into bed with me. Most nights, he would curl up at the foot of the bed. But some nights, it was like he could sense that I’d had a bad day or was very scared. He would curl up next to me and let me wrap myself around him.”

Mary wasn’t sure if Sherlock was talking to himself, her, or some phantom of John like she heard. But she didn’t say a word. Sherlock continued. “I’ve gotten used to having you around, Mary. And I’m not sure I want to go back to the flat being empty again.”

Mary smiled faintly at the back of Sherlock’s head. “So, John was your substitute skull and Rosie and I are your substitute pet dog?”

Sherlock turned to look at her. His expression was one she really hadn’t seen on him before. There was some mixture of hurt involved and Mary wasn’t sure why. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

She stood and every fibre of her being told her to run back to her room. But she couldn’t. Sherlock took a breath. “No. What I’m trying to say is I love you and Rosie in ways I didn’t know I was capable.”

It was Mary’s turn to have various emotions cross her features. She nodded. “You need something from me, but don’t know how to ask. We’re both blunt people, Sherlock. Just say it.”

He nodded and took a step around his chair so he could stand before her. “Would you… sleep in my room tonight?”

Mary knew Sherlock too well to think he was asking her to have sex with him. The story about Redbeard made it clear what his intentions were. She offered a smile and finally nodded. “I think… It might actually be good for both of us. You go on and get ready. Call to me when you’re settled.”

Every muscle in Sherlock’s body seemed to relax he gave a single nod and left to do as instructed. It didn’t take long before he called for her.

Mary entered the room, took off her robe, sat on the bed, and then got under the covers. It wasn’t as awkward as she thought it was going to be. Sherlock more or less stayed to one side of the bed and didn’t ask her even for a hug. Mary, curled on her side with her back to Sherlock, had to admit, a warm body in the same bed again was oddly soothing. Each kept to themselves while taking comfort in the presence of the other. It wasn’t long before each of them fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay... Blame COVID (I do).

Sherlock hadn’t asked Mary to sleep next to him again during the time it took to prepare for the move to the Holmes’ Cottage. Mary didn’t mention anything about it, either. Her training told her that sometimes people just needed physical presence. While John never mentioned to her times where he might have slept next to Sherlock, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had on any of the “Danger Nights”. Maybe Sherlock had been having a danger night that night and she had just been too wrapped up in everything to notice. She considered that maybe Sherlock was right; perhaps he was ‘just a user’.

Mycroft was going to ensure that the Cottage had all the necessary baby supplies so that Mary could travel easily, for which she was grateful. He was also making preparations for setting up a satellite office in Ely, which was the closest city to where the Holmes’ cottage was located. He also decided he would move surveillance of the cottage security system to that office. It would just make things simpler in a lot of ways.

It took about two weeks to get everything organised. As the time grew closer for Mary to leave, she could tell that Sherlock was pulling away. Finally, a couple of days before she was due to leave, she decided to address the issue. “Sherlock, I know you’re not the best at relationships, but you’re acting like you’ll never see me again.”

It was reminiscent of how he acted before John and Mary’s wedding and honestly, she thought he had grown past that. He hummed as he thought of a reply. “No, I know I’ll see you again. You’re just going to stay with my parents for a bit. I see them plenty.”  
“Then why are you playing with Rosie less? Talking with me less?”  
“There’s a lot to do if we’re going to keep everyone safe.”

Mary sighed. “We’ve all been working on that. Why are you working on it alone? You don’t have to be alone in this.”  
“I do things better on my own.”

Mary narrowed her eyes for a moment. “This is about John. You blame yourself for his death and if anything happens to your parents, Rosie, or me, you think it will be your fault. That’s not how this works, Sherlock.”

He huffed in annoyance. Sometimes he really hated that Mary had some of the training she did and that John wasn’t there to hold her back anymore. When he gave no verbal reply, Mary continued. “Sherlock, John made his choice. I’m making mine. Your parents will be as safe as we can get them. And they’ve lived this long with your brother running multiple governments.”  
“It’s not the same!”

Mary stepped back at Sherlock’s explosion. Sherlock sighed. “Sorry.”

Mary nodded and stepped closer again. “You’re right. This isn’t the same. There’s an unstable external force at work. None of us knows anything about him, save that he’s likely out for some type of revenge. Unknowns make humans anxious out of habit. But just like we can’t let grief consume us, we can’t let fear run our lives either.”

He glared at her. “That’s rich, coming from you who cheated, lied, and ran whenever things were too difficult for you after you stopped being an assassin.”

Mary swallowed thickly and nodded. “I sometimes say things I need to do myself.” She offered a small shrug. “Sherlock, there’s one thing I do know, because that’s how I’ve lived my life. It can’t be done alone and pushing people away only makes everything worse.” She tilted her head to try to catch his glance. “ _You_ taught me that.”

He looked over at her. “I did? When did I do that?”

Her features softened as she took a step closer to him. “Every time you tried to help me. Every time you forced me into accepting your help. I was always wrong when I tried to do things myself. I made things so much worse than they would have been if I had just gone to you to begin with. You helped me to know that I could be a mother and still put my assassin skills to good work. So that’s what I plan to do with your parents: be a mum and use my assassin skills to keep them as safe as I can.”

Sherlock took in her words and finally nodded. “Okay. I can let you do that.”

She smiled. “Good. Now, go spend some time with that goddaughter of yours. It’s a nice day, take a walk around Regent’s. She likes it there.”

Mary helped Sherlock get the baby ready for the walk and sighed with relief when the pair finally left. She loved them both dearly, but there were some things she just didn’t feel like she could do with them around. She needed to be in ‘Assassin Mode’ and that was difficult to accomplish with a baby nearby.

She went to the bedroom and pulled up two floorboards. Under them was a book: _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_. She caressed it gently, remembering how John had told her the story of this book and why he had kept it. John was right, Mary and Sherlock were more alike than different. She opened the book. Inside of it were tools of Sherlock’s addiction. She inspected them closely. They hadn’t appeared to have been used recently. She was surprised, though there were times Sherlock underestimated John, she figured at some point since he had moved out, Sherlock would have searched every nook and cranny.

She would have to take it with her. No telling how Sherlock would react to being alone and stressed. Besides, this was something that somehow connected her to John. While she didn’t see him as much since moving in with Sherlock, she still wanted to cling to every bit of him she could. She had Rosie, of course, which helped, but she did miss her husband.

After everything in the room was packed – either to remain in storage at 221B or to be taken to the Holmes’ home – Mary drove to a storage unit on the outskirts of London. She still had many of these around. More, if she could really believe she was the last living AGRA member alive. Though, to be fair, Sherlock had just as many bolt holes. Both of them would probably never reveal all of their secrets to each other.

She parked the car and walked to a particular door. She pulled out a key, unlocked the door and entered. There was no light in the room and so she pulled out a flashlight. She hadn’t been here since she had decided to go to nursing school. This site held the most dangerous weapons of her arsenal. She moved the flashlight around, looking for the trunk she would need. The light reflected off of something in the corner. That caught her attention so she walked over to it.

It was part of a picture frame that had been covered with a blanket to keep it protected. Part of the blanket had slid off. She pulled the blanket away and took in the photo of her family. She just stared at it for a long time. She knelt in front of it and traced her fingers lightly over the faces of her mother, father, and brother. All of them were dead now. All because of her. John was dead because of her. The tears started to fall, but she did not notice them. “I keep saying ‘never again’ and I keep failing.”

“You won’t fail Rosie.”

The familiar voice startled her. Still, Mary sprang to her feet, blocked the other’s view to the portrait, and aimed a gun at the owner of the voice.

Mycroft raised his hands to show he wasn’t armed. “Apologies, Mrs Watson. In your state, I was concerned you wouldn’t take all the precautions you normally do. I wanted to ensure your safety.”

Mary slowly lowered the gun. Then she sank to the floor where she was and wept bitterly. “If you were able to follow me here, I already have. How can I possibly hope to protect anyone in the state I’m in?”

Mycroft walked toward her. “Because, as you said to Sherlock, you’re not in this alone. We all need to help each other. It may surprise you to know that my parents can largely take care of themselves. They can be their own force to recon with, so I suggest you let them take care of you while you’re there. They have no grandchildren, so will treat Rosie as one. You just need to keep them from the bigger threats.”

Mary shook her head. “I – I don’t think I can.”

Mycroft moved passed her. He examined the photo of her family before carefully covering it with the blanket. He took extra care to ensure it was completely protected. “I put an end to using contractors. However, AGRA would never have been as successful as they were without you. I know a great deal more about you than I usually admit.”

He turned and stood near her. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “While the death of your family inspired you to become what you did, you didn’t fail them and could never have protected them from what happened. There are bad people in the world and far too often innocent people are killed by them.”  
“What about John? If I hadn’t run, if I hadn’t married him, if I had told him and Sherlock all about AGRA from the start…”  
“Mrs Watson.” Mycroft’s voice was stern. Not to ridicule her, but to stop her thought process. “When Sherlock told me that he was going after Charles Augustus Magnussen, I did my research, I learnt who you were and what you were. I am as much to blame in the harms that resulted from that as anyone.”

Mary frowned, but looked up at him. “Then how do you go on? How do you let all of that go?”

Mycroft offered a weak and sympathetic smile. “The same way you let go of all the people you’ve killed.”  
“This is different.”  
“Only because it’s about you personally. So, stop thinking about you and start thinking about others. Let go of the past and think about the future.”

He handed Mary a handkerchief which she used before speaking again. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”  
“I’m not. All of us need reminders that we’re human. Even me.”

Mary snorted a wet chuckle. “Especially you.”  
“Indeed. If you have what you need, we’ll put it in my car and you can drive back to Baker Street.”

She nodded and he helped her to stand. “Don’t tell Sherlock about them. Not yet. I know I need to tell him and I will, when we return. This isn’t the sort of thing to talk about before leaving.”

Mycroft agreed. Once everything was situated, they parted ways. 

On the drive back to Baker Street, Mary had a lot to think about. Mycroft was right, of course, if she thought about the future rather than the past, things would get easier. She wasn’t sure she would ever completely move on from the loss of John, but knowing she still had Sherlock and Mycroft – that she still had some sense of family was comforting. They could all do this – together.

She entered 221 to the sounds of Rosie giggling loudly. Sherlock had learnt to play with her rather than play at her. Mary watched from the kitchen. Sherlock was gently raising the baby in the air and suddenly lowering his arms, while holding her securely. Mary could tell that if the child were a bit older, Sherlock would be tossing her in the air.

Sherlock was chuckling softly as the baby giggled and the two of them together were infectious. It made Mary briefly let go of the past and be in the present. She too, started to laugh and she entered the living room. “Good to see the two of you having such a good time.”

When the baby heard her mother’s voice, she turned her head and reached out to her. Sherlock held her out. “Well, she’s clearly done with me now.”

Mary giggled softly. “Don’t be so sure, she probably just wants to say, ‘Hello’.”

She took the child and cuddled her for a minute. Then placed her in the middle of the room. Sherlock had moved to sit on his chair and Mary sat on the couch. Rosie looked between them, but ultimately crawled her way to where Sherlock was sat. Mary grinned. “There, you see? She knows who she will have more fun with.”

Sherlock picked the child up and cuddled with her as he pretended to read the book in front of him, but he was actually talking to Mary. “Mycroft called to tell me they would come to pick up most of the items you want transported to my parents’ house tonight. Are you ready for that?”

Mary hummed in the affirmative. Obviously, Mycroft hadn’t mentioned their meeting. Good. She would tell Sherlock that story someday, but she wasn’t ready yet. “I’ll need to keep one suitcase, a diaper bag, and whatever is in the car. Since he’s purchasing all the furniture for her at your parents’ house, most of that can remain here. I’ve boxed everything else up just so it’s out of the way.”

Sherlock nodded. “So, when you come back, you’re planning to come back here? I mean, if that’s the case, you should just sell your flat.”

Mary grinned. “Let’s take things one step at a time. We’ll catch Moriarty first. And see how we all feel after some time apart. Who knows, maybe you’ll discover you actually hated having us here all the time and you only want us to stay overnight on occasion.”

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe. But I hadn’t realised how quiet the place had been without John, until having you here.”

Mary nodded. “I think, when I come back, I’ll need a little bit of time at the flat. There are some things that have to be faced alone, however briefly. And I really haven’t been alone since… everything happened. But who knows? That’s too far in the future to think about right now.”

Sherlock nodded. “And you want me to figure out if I like having you here or if I only like the distractions you provide.”

Mary grinned at that. “Well, the idea had crossed my mind. This will be a good break for all of us.” She bit her lip a moment. “How much do your parents know? I mean about me and John.”

“Mycroft and I both told them different parts of the story. They’re looking forward to taking care of you and Rosie. Right now, they think you just need time outside of London. They don’t know about Moriarty or anything of your past.”

Mary nodded. “Thank you. For everything. Just one suggestion while I’m gone. Check in on Molly. She and I have texted and had a few phone calls, but we really haven’t seen each other. I know she was only close to John because of you, but you need to return to your proper place in this group.”

Sherlock frowned. “My proper place?”

Mary hummed. “When you were gone, John became the one to keep the group together, even though he didn’t see people often. It’s time for you to become the centre of this little universe again.”

Sherlock smirked. “Do you think I’m really so narcissistic?”

Mary grinned. “No. But you do.”

Sherlock smirked again and shrugged. She wasn’t wrong. “Another step in the process, then?”

She nodded and then stood. “Since you two are well-entertained, I’m going to go start dinner.”


End file.
